


Thralls

by neichan



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Crossover, Domestic Discipline, First Time, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-03
Updated: 2006-03-02
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 95
Words: 226,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: The Initiative is conducting more experiments. Not even their own soldiers are safe. Let alone the civilians.Characters: Angel/Xander/Graham/Riley, and more





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Alexander Harris woke up on the floor of a cell.

 

It was warm, the floor padded, as if intended to serve as a bed, so he wasn't all that uncomfortable. There was no furniture in the room at all, no blankets or even a sheet either, definitely no pillows. His own clothes were gone and he was wearing only a white, form-fitting jumpsuit. And everything else in the room was white.

 

His feet were bare. For some inexplicable reason that made him feel naked enough to want to cover his crotch. He also wasn't alone. Buffy's current squeeze and soldier boy, Riley, was next to him, sitting up already back propped against one of the white, padded walls, and one other man, a bit shorter than Riley, even broader, with model good-looks, but he still had the same soldierly air.

 

They were also wearing the jumpsuits, stretchy, thin, not concealing a thing, from nipples on down to the danglies, both men had folded their hands in their laps protectively. OK. Well. That told Xander where he was. In the Initiative's hidden laboratory/base, the one he and the other slayerettes had invaded, and ultimately saved Spike from a few months back. Not a good place to be if he had any choice at all.

 

"Hey, Riley. OK. So. Maybe you can tell me what I...we are doing here?" Xander asked hopefully. Riley just looked at him, jaw working, showing more upset on his Iowa, corn-fed face than Xander could ever remember. Soldier boy or not, Riley was usually a hell of a lot more amiable than this.

 

"That bad, huh?" He turned to the second man, one he vaguely recalled seeing somewhere before. The man's face was serious, grim. Xander turned back to Riley. He plucked at the offending jumpsuit. "Any hints as to why we are wearing these?" Riley looked away from him, hands still firmly in his own lap. Xander transferred his attention to the second soldier. Or, maybe, former soldier, if the accommodations were anything to go by.

 

"How about you? Any insights to offer? Advice? This a voluntary program? I am so ready to un-volunteer if it is. 'Cause I have to admit, I am flying blind here. I am Xander by the way. Can't pin it down exactly, but I've seen you somewhere around. I work construction during the day, and bartend at night. Ring any bells?" Xander held out his hand. The other man took it, no hesitation. They shook. Big hand, calloused. Powerful, but human. Xander relaxed a fraction. He still had the upper hand there, physically, at least.

 

"Graham." The other man said, his grip strong, but not a contest of strength by any stretch. Hmmm. That was good. Xander didn't want to reveal anything about himself he didn't need to. Not here. This was exactly the kind of place that had to have cameras monitoring inhabitant's, or prisoner's, he amended silently, every move. And Xander Harris did not do good prisoner. He waited for more information, but it was not forthcoming.

 

"Soooo." Xander urged, then waited, raising his brows. "Any idea why we are here? Guinea Pigs? Prisoners of the Big Bad Whatever? Meals on Wheels for Vamps?" He tried to keep it light, all the while looking for a clue in the expressions of his cell mates. Riley's jaw locked again, the muscle bulging on the side. Huh. No help there. Graham's face was blank. Super.

 

"Very astute, Mr. Harris. Tell me, was that a guess or have you and your friends stumbled onto information you shouldn't have? Computer hacking, unauthorized incursions into a Government Facility?" A third voice, this one female, cut into Xander's joke. He spun his head around to meet the gaze of the woman standing just outside the white cell, on the other side of the Plexiglas. He carefully repositioned himself to hide all his vulnerable assets from her piercing, clinical gaze.

 

OK. This was so not good. The doctor was the same one, blond, mid forties, slender and stern, who had objected so strongly to their eliminating Adam. No sense of humor to exploit. He frowned. Stalling for time. "Don't I know you?" He asked, putting on his puzzled!Xander face.

 

The woman smirked at him. "Won't work here, Mr. Harris. I've had you under observation for more than two years. I know you aren't as dumb as you pretend to be. So, when I needed someone for this little experiment, I knew just what I was getting when I had you picked up."

 

"What experiment is that, ma'am?" Xander hazarded the polite question, though he had a feeling he really didn't want to know. He did, but he didn't. On one hand, he had to learn as much as he could in order to figure out how to escape, but his instincts were all screaming it wasn't going to be pleasant news, not from this lady. Just a guess, but it didn't seem like she did pleasant.

 

"Oh, nothing too esoteric, for a young man of your intellect. How you must have struggled to keep your grades down to C's and D's! Well, there is no need to continue to pretend. I needed someone who had a good chance of survival. Someone smart and strong. I personally selected you. We will be employing genetic manipulations, simple DNA alterations to effect the desired changes." She smiled then, and his stomach shifted unhappily. Crap. He liked her scowling so much better.

 

Xander did not like the ideas that smile brought to mind. He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to take in Riley and Graham's stiffened postures. They were also not happy with her change in expression. And they knew her better than he did. Excellent instincts boys, he thought. "Like?" Xander prompted as casually as he could.

 

"Well. Interested at last, Mr. Harris? Are you familiar with the concept of a thrall?" She lost the smile and leaned back against the desk behind her. He pursed his lips. Bad direction for this kind of discussion in this kind of locale, he decided. The implications.....

 

"Thralls? You mean vampire groupies? Sure." Xander huffed and leaned back in what he hoped looked like unconcern. He picked at the non-existent lint on his suit, watching her out of the corner of one eye. "Underfed, drug addicted, pathetic....selling their blood to vamps to make a living."

 

"Tsk, tsk. Mr. Harris. I know you are not an imbecile, unlike that friend you call the Slayer. I have never had an occasion to suspect *she* was not a natural blond. Thralls, Mr. Harris. Vampire Companions. Or, as you put it so presciently, Meals on Wheels for Vampires, and so much more. A way to control vampires. If we own the Companions, the thralls, we own the vampires."

 

She stood, and Xander clamped his tongue between his teeth to prevent anything the bitch-doctor could use from escaping his mouth. It sounded like she knew far too much already. He wasn't going to give her one scrap more. Perhaps she didn't know how...she interrupted his thoughts.

 

"I have the blood from three different vamps. Now, in any real experiment, one subject just won't do. So, for each of the samples, I need more than one subject. Say, three to make it viable. Three for each sample, ideally. Nine subjects. I can spare some of my soldiers, men who have proven less than reliable," Her eyes burned into Graham and Riley for an instant, "for the experiment, but that still left me short. So." She waved a hand at him, and Xander cringed inwardly.

 

"Who? Who's blood?" Xander was dumbfounded that the words had gotten out past his clenched jaw. He slapped a hand over his traitorous mouth, the other still cupping his crotch.

 

"Should I tell you, or let it be a surprise?" She thought about it. Then smiled that horrible smile again. "This is too good not to share. I think I will tell you." She made a show of opening the folder she held in her hands settling back onto the edge of the desk with one hip. She ran one finger down the page. She looked back up, her eyes glittering.

 

"Hostile 35, unknown female vampire. No one you know." She flipped through the papers some more. "Angelus, in contrast, a very well known male vampire. Deadboy to you, Mr. Harris, I understand the two of you have a history of sorts. Not too friendly. I am sure the two of you will have much to discuss." More flipping. "And the crazy girl, the one they called Dru, I believe. Quite insane. Not my first choice of course, her thralls are likely to be just as mad as she is. But one makes do with the resources one has at hand. In order to make thralls we need Master vampires, not minions or fledglings. And Masters are in such short supply nowadays."

 

Fuck! Oh ghod. Fuck! was running through Xander's mind. He shrugged. "Do I get to pick who I get injected with?" He asked brightly, trying out his most disarming Xander smile. The unknown quantity was looking to be the best choice.

 

"No. I am not that generous. You three have already been selected into the group receiving the serum from Angelus. I won't take the chance on any pregnancies messing up my experiments, and no need for any half demon-mutants running through our halls now, is there? The groupings will be all male and all female." She snapped the folder closed. "I suggest you three get some rest. And before you ask, no, I am not going to tell you who the other "volunteers" for the tests are. But, you do know them. All of them." She spun on her sensible low heeled shoes and strode off.

 

Xander was frantically ticking off the names of all the women he knew and cared about. Buffy, Willow, Cordelia, Dawn, Jenny, his brain ground to a halt. He had no idea how many others would be at risk, if any. The doctor had hinted that there were other soldiers involved. He turned to Riley.

 

"Any female soldiers in the Initiative ranks?" He hissed in a barely audible whisper against the other man's ear. Riley jerked away, and Xander forestalled the move by wrapping one hand around the other man's bicep. Nice. But, he squeezed anyway, letting a little of his not quite human strength show in the grip. Riley's eyes widened.

 

"Just...answer the question." Xander ground out, relaxing his hold a bit.

 

"None. Some of the scientists are women." Riley answered, warily, hand coming up to rub at his arm. His eyes asked the questions Xander wasn't ready to reveal the answers to yet.

 

"I answered your question, now answer mine," Riley hissed back at him. "I can tell there is a difference between vampire groupies and thralls. Tell me what that difference is."

 

"Groupies are pretty much voluntary hangers on." Xander said, after waiting for Riley to pull Graham near enough to lean in close and hear the explanations. "They might be psychologically addicted to the feeling of a vamp feeding, or something along those lines. Some do it just for the money. But a thrall, a thrall has no choice. A true thrall is physically and emotionally, psychologically and genetically dependent, addicted to the vampire he or she is in thrall to. No cure. A lifelong attachment. Your bitch-doctor thinks she is going to be able to manipulate and control the vampire through the selection of certain companion thralls. But, take my word for it, she is wrong. It is the blood that makes the tie. All other loyalties are moot by the time the thrall attachment is in place. A thrall will sacrifice everything to keep it's Master vampire happy."

 

Xander stopped talking, looking from face to face. Both of the men were pale, but determined. He chuckled. He knew exactly what they were thinking. He whispered again.

 

"Listen up guys. I am not talking about alcohol or tobacco, or cocaine. I am talking addiction that rivals the need for oxygen. You can't do without it. You die." He leaned even closer. "So if one of you has any push left with the old lady, talk her out of this. I do not want to be a thrall, but I most especially don't want to be a thrall to Deadboy. And I am going to be really pissed if that happens." He sat back.


	2. Part 2

Angel stood looking out over the lobby of the Hyperion. Something was wrong. He could smell it. Well, maybe not wrong, but different. The air in LA was different tonight. Tantalizing. Promising. Threatening. Whatever it was, it tore through him, dimpling his skin. He strained towards the scent. He lifted his chin and inhaled. He was a vampire, no matter how often he acted like he wasn't. He liked those scents. They intrigued him, excited him, his heart was beating hard in his chest, a rare thing, that. His eyes hooded involuntarily.

 

"What is that about? Or shouldn't I ask?" Cordelia asked from behind him, in her short skirt and silk tank, impeccably groomed, mouth shiny with gloss, her hair swept up in a silver clip, tiny diamonds twinkling in her lobes. Her eyes were locked on Angel, as he stood statue still. At the sound of her voice, he turned towards her.

 

"You don't look, right." She shied away from him, gesturing at his face. It took a moment for him to realize he was in game-face. Shit. Her hand dove into the pocket of her skirt, the one he knew held her cross. He turned away from her, not wanting to witness the holy item's appearance.

 

"Oh, there you are, princess..." Doyle walked into the entryway and stopped cold. His attention immediately diverted away from the beautiful young woman he worked and occasionally flirted with. He sniffed the air coming in the open front doors. His skin rippled, reddened, but he didn't quite change. No horns or spikes managed to sprout. He shivered. His voice was low, all of it's lilt gone. "Alright. Now what the hell is going on?"

 

Angel turned to look at him with the golden vamp eyes, and Doyle took a big step back. It wasn't that he hadn't seen those vampish eyes all the time, it was the look in them, the predatory part, that he had never seen shown in his direction. Nor the lips peeling back over fangs while his friend looked at *him*. He didn't move forward again, he froze, until the vampire went back to the contemplation of the front entrance, leaving Doyle to shake in his shoes. Happy not to be the focus of the vampire's attention any longer.

 

Angel sniffed, scenting the breeze, stretching his throat long and pale, face pointing up at the ceiling. Doyle cautiously copied him. He smelled.... Oh, no. Not Angel. He wouldn't have. He couldn't have. Doyle refused to believe it. Someone else had done it, really, really fucked up.

 

Doyle reached out and snagged Cordelia's arm. "Get out of here, now, fast. Take Wes with you. And Fred. Hurry." He pushed her towards the stairs. But, being Cordelia, his princess, she of course refused to go. You didn't just push the princess around.

 

"Hey, wait a minute..." She snapped. Hands going to her hips in indignation. "You are going to have to do better than that. Something interesting is going on, and I want to know what it is."

 

"I mean it, Cordelia. Get out. He doesn't need you to be here for this. He won't be happy if you are." Doyle, hissed at her, he kept trying to crowd her up the stairs, or into the elevator. And Cordy, bless her stubborn human heart, kept somehow managing to squirm free.

 

"Oh, but he needs you?" She shook her head. "Not buying it. Uh-uh. Let's try that again. What is going on? Better spill, Doyle. I am not leaving." She crossed her arms over her chest. Ghod, he wanted to grab her and throw her up the stairs, or down to the office, get her anywhere but here, out of harm's way. He didn't want her to witness what was going to happen. And he was sure Angel didn't want her to see it.

 

"Princess, you have to get out. There's no time to argue." Doyle's voice held a tone that Cordelia had never heard from the normally genial half-demon. She frowned at him, he frowned back, but he couldn't compete, not while he was concentrating more on the vampire and the front of the hotel than on Cordy, the queen of the disapproving glare.

 

"Nope. You best be explaining yourself." She snapped imperiously at him, standing firm.

 

"Oh, Ghod. Please Cordy, princess. Please. Go, uhm, call Lorne." He was not above begging, but he should have remembered she didn't cave in to it. She drew herself up on her heels, and kept glaring at him. Until the crash against the partially open glass doors. That drew both of their gazes. And both of them jumped, Doyle higher than Cordy.

 

Doyle spun around towards the front doors his eyes wide, expecting to see...less than he did. There were too many of them. There should be only one. But there were more. Three men, staggering, unsteady, supporting themselves barely, by leaning one on the other, until they were inside the Hyperion. Then they fell sprawling, onto the entry way floor, curling into a lump of limbs and moaning.

 

Cordelia gasped. "Alexander Harris?" She squeaked. "What are you doing here?" She made a move to go to the dark haired, young man groaning on the floor. Doyle cut her off, throwing his arm around her waist. One arm, he didn't dare use two, in case Angel turned on them. It was then that Angel began to move. Away from Doyle and Cordelia. Doyle fought to keep Cordelia behind himself, against the wall and out of the vampire's way.

 

Angel took a step. Then another. Then he was over them, looking down at the writhing mass, his stance aggressive, challenging, as his gaze roamed the area, inside the Hyperion and out. He was not the usual vampire they worked with, day to day, or night to night. The way he stood, it was primal, uncivilized, primitive, as if he was not Angel, but rather, Angelus. A very riled up Angelus. A ready to do battle Angelus. He let out a low continuous growl from deep in his broad chest.

 

"He's...growling?" Cordelia whispered from behind Doyle, her voice at last frightened, her fingers wound tight in the back of his crumpled shirt. He would have preferred she had been frightened earlier and had run. But no, he wasn't that lucky.

 

He whispered back. "Quiet, princess, don't want his attention just now, take my word for it. Get down, on the floor..." She drew in a breath, and he cut her off. "Please. Now, no more argument. I'll get you another skirt." She let him help her to the tiles.

 

More important than figuring out how he was going to afford anything in her price range, was getting the two of them out of Angel's line of sight. Or looking completely harmless if he did see them. That meant on the floor, not making eye contact, offering no competition for whichever of the three was the One.

 

Doyle hoped Angel wouldn't kill the other two, not right away, not here, in front of him, in front of Cordy. If he would just leave them, take the one he wanted, and leave the others, he could get them out of the Hotel and to safety. But, he didn't have much hope, this was a situation of instinct, Angel was being driven to act by eons of vampire evolution, survival, and physiology. That tended to take a lot of choice from the matter.

 

Angel bent down, sniffing over the three bodies. None of them tried to flee. Hands lifted, weakly, trying to touch him, trying to grab onto him and hold him. He let it happen. Let them cling to him, as he went down on his knees. Still sniffing. Angel moved through them, until he came to the center of the grouping. Then the vampire reached out. Doyle held his breath.

 

Angel didn't strike out, he petted, touched, turned and examined each of the three men. He cupped their faces, bent down and licked the hands held up to him, nipped at them. They struggled up on hands and kneels, swarming closer leaning into the vampire, not one of them, but all three of them. Doyle gaped. That could only mean...Oh Shit.

 

Angel grabbed two of them and lifted them, one under each arm. He could have carried all three if them were easier to balance. But he settled for two, the lighter haired ones, hefting them, their hands scrabbling at his duster, clutching. The vampire moved off towards the stairs that lead to his rooms. His face was still morphed, and his fangs extended, his growl growing in timbre and depth, glowing eyes bestial, feral.

 

He carried them a few feet, then set them down, went back, picked up the first man, the dark haired one, who wrapped himself around the vampire, carried him to where the other two were, and past them further up the staircase. Then he repeated it all over again, gradually making his way up the steps with the three men. Growling all the way, while a stunned Cordelia and pale Doyle watched the process. Once he was out of sight, Cordy sprang up to her feet, swung around to face the half-demon.

 

"OK, now you don't have any excuse. What the hell just happened?" She spat out, hands on hips. Doyle cringed. He held up his hands, palms out, ready to soothe her.

 

"Thralls." The British accent interrupted from behind. "Someone has managed to create a thrice of thralls that carry Angel's bloodmark."

 

"Well that is just great. What does it mean?' Cordelia snapped.

 

"It means those men are bound to Angel, his human slaves, until they, or he dies." Wesley informed her, face thoughtful and concerned. "It means we are in for a few changes around here if they stay."

 

"But...that was Xander." Cordelia protested. Then her brows shot up towards her hairline. "If they stay? What if they don't?"

 

"Xander?" Wes prompted, then his confusion cleared. "Xander from Sunnydale? From your high school." Wesley turned and looked up the staircase where Angel had carried his human loot. They were all out of sight now. "So, someone we know. Well, that is certainly not ideal."

 

"Wesley!" The young woman snapped. "What do you mean *if* they stay? And why does that sound so bad when you say it?"

 

"He may kill them. He certainly didn't make them. He doesn't...I mean...he hasn't shown any of the signs...." Helplessly Wes turned to Doyle. "Do you think?"

 

The Irishman shook his head. "No, I agree. I don't think he made them. It is not somethng Angel woud do."

 

"Well, then the question we have to answer, is who made them, and why. And how they got his blood. If they didn't carry *Angel's* bloodmark they would be dead already."


	3. Part 3

"Wes, that is Xander up there. Someone we both know. And Angel isn't acting right. He's gone all Angelus-y. But, your suggestion is to leave all of them alone, up there, with him all gameface?" Cordy showed her teeth in a very credible snarl, fingers hooked into imitations of claws. The Englishman and the Irishman both leaned back out of range and nodded simultaneously.

 

Doyle swallowed hard, keeping a sharp eye out for any further escalation from Cordy. He would never have believed he could be almost as scared of a human woman as he was of the vampire that had been known as the scourge of Europe. The Sire of William the Bloody.

 

"Precisely. It is the only sensible thing to do." Wesley squeaked, bravely clearing his throat and running a finger around his collar. When she continued to frown at him, he readjusted his glasses and cast his eyes in Doyle's direction, seeking much needed back up. The half-demon's eyes widened and he gulped as Cordelia's attention was diverted back to him. He tried to save the situation from complete disaster.

 

"Well, love, you see there isn't any alternative, not now. It's too late. This is the time he'll be settling in with the one he picks..." Doyle tried to explain. He winced when the princess' gaze fixed on him, blazing.

 

"Hold on." She held up a finger, it's delicate, lacquered nail gleaming a soft peach. "You said one. There are three men up there with him. What, exactly, is going to happen to the other two?" Her jaw was set.

 

"Uhm." Wesley joined him breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat. Doyle thought he might faint.

 

Her eyes narrowed to flashing beams, lips pushing out belligerently. "Someone had better start talking or I am going to march up there and ask Angel myself." She warned them.

 

"That would be a huge mistake, princess." Doyle muttered. "Huge, big, very bad mistake."

 

"Immense." Wesley agreed, nodding his head. "A terrible, terrible mistake."

 

"Then you two had better start telling me what I want to know." Her finger pointed at first one then the other of them. "Lay it out, on the line. Clearly. I want to understand every word."

 

Doyle and Wesley exchanged panicked looks. Wesley opened his mouth, but no words came out. Doyle rolled his eyes and went for it, fingers crossed.

 

"Uhm. He, Angel, is bonding to one of them, most likely. Usually, when a vampire takes on a thrall, it's only one. One vamp, one thrall. The bond is a...." He looked helplessly at Wesley for assistance, but the other man's fiery blush told him not to hold his breath. "...uh, an intimate relationship, deep, and binding on both thrall and vampire. They share blood, and life, and...sex." He lowered his voice, then rushed on. "Everything. So, there isn't any real chance that all of them are going to live through it. If a vampire takes on a new thrall and there is an old thrall, the old one is often killed. Eaten sometimes."

 

"What! Eaten!?" Cordelia screeched. "And you want me to stay down here and let that happen? Let Angel kill Xander? Snack on him? And how come I've never heard any thrall talk before? No warning from either of you? Hiding information from me? Like I am not a full partner in Angel Investigations! Like I don't keep things running around here?!"

 

"Calm down, princess." Doyle pleaded. "We weren't keeping anything from you. It isn't a common practice, not any more, it's sort of an old custom, and certainly not followed much in America, not when the vampires here are more solitary, there aren't any courts here, and fewer, besides."

 

Wesley chose that moment to chime in. "In the European court-covens, where there are groups of vampires joined by blood-ties, it is more typically practiced. The courtiers almost universally have a thrall, rarely they have two. No one keeps three, sorry, Cordy. It just isn't done." Wesley cleared his throat. "The Watcher's Council has documented the practice. But, as an institution, it is not well known. The dynamics of the relationship of Master vampire to thrall have been observed only from a distance. Interference, trying to get too close, is quite dangerous."

 

"I am not happy." Cordelia chanted through her clenched teeth. "You haven't answered all my questions. *Is* Angel going to kill them? Maybe *Xander* if we don't go up there and do something about it?"

 

The two men exchanged another glance. Then Wesley nodded. "Quite probably."

 

"And why aren't we going to do anything about it?" She prompted.

 

"They *can't* live without him. They are bound to him, however it happened. If he rejects them they will die. None has ever survived rejection. Nothing we can do about that."

 

"Did you not just tell me no one has gotten close enough to know that for sure?" Cordelia yelled. "Are you the same men who leap in against all odds to save human lives from demons and evil vamps?"

 

They had the grace to look ashamed. Doyle tried to explain.

 

"Princess, you aren't listening. The only way they are going to live is *if he chooses to keep them*. I have never heard of a vampire keeping three thralls. And Angel, he isn't the type. To the best of my knowledge he's never made even one thrall. Never had one in the past. He won't keep three." He shrugged, holding his hands out towards the fuming young woman. "I am sorry about your friend."

 

"You think he's going to kill all of them. And you aren't going to do anything to stop it."

 

"Perhaps it would be best. The alternative is being bound to him, until he tires of them." Wesley said gently. Cordelia glared at him. "It is not an easy life. Think Cordelia, would Xander want to live that way? Used by a vampire in whichever way the vampire wanted?"

 

"I'll tell you one thing, WWP, he would rather be alive, than dead with no chance to break this curse." Cordelia said right back, waving a hand in front of their faces. "And we are talking about Angel here. Hello, vampire with a soul!"

 

"It is not a curse." Doyle retorted automatically, then grimaced, wanting to put his hand over his mouth, and shove the words back in, as the sharp eyes returned to him.

 

"Oh? Do tell. Well, you may explain it all to me, and I do mean all, once we go up there." She pointed to the third floor, at Angel's rooms. "And make sure he doesn't kill any of them. After that we will have tons of time to talk."

 

"We can't!" Doyle wailed, giving up on changing her mind. "He'll kill us if we disturb him."

 

"It is not like you to be this wimpy." Cordelia said warningly. "Now get up, you two, and let's go."

 

It was abundantly clear she was going to go, whether or not they went with her. Reluctantly both men got to their feet and shifted unhappily. They trailed her up the flights of stairs, and to the outer door of Angel's suite. She stood, arms crossed stubbornly, her eyes ordering them to knock, when both men hung back she extended a hand and rapped sharply.

 

Nothing happened. She knocked again. Nothing. Then she rattled the knob, and a low, menacing growl sounded. Doyle grabbed her wrist and tugged her back from the door, despite her protests, and spirited resistance.

 

"Angel! You open this door right now, or I am going to break it down. I know you have Xander in there, and I am not about to let you hurt one of my friends. Are you listening to me?" Cordelia shouted, then waited about ten seconds before she wrenched herself free and kicked the door with one hard-toed pump. The solid oak door shook in it's frame. "Angel, you better be listening to me."

 

This time it was Wesley and Doyle who snatched her back, muscling her away from potential harm, maiming and death. The growling had risen from a low rumble to a shriek promising imminent violence.

 

"Angel! If you harm one hair on those boys' head you are answering to me!" Cordy yelled as they tried to force her back down the stairs. The door flew open behind them, and they whirled as a group.

 

Angel was there, naked, streaked with blood, snarling. Not the calm, controlled, vampire they were used to, by any stretch. Wesley let out a shout of alarm as Cordelia elbowed him in the gut, and managed to wriggle partially free. Doyle held on to her other arm with grim determination, digging in his heels.

 

"They better all be alive in there, and that better be your blood." The young woman told the vampire, shaking a finger at him, not at all intimidated, nor seemingly aware of his lack of clothing. Doyle thought she had at last taken full leave of her senses. Wesley manged to regain his hold on her waving arm, pulling urgently.

 

Angel took a step into the hall. Doyle and Wesley both felt the blood freeze in their veins, their balls migrating upwards. Then there was a cry from the room behind the vampire. Mournful, needy, and they watched as he stopped in his tracks, and raised his head to sniff the air. He whirled and re-entered the room, slamming the door. They all heard the deadbolt lock engage, the rattle of the chains slipping home.

 

"Hold on." Cordelia was suddenly still in their arms. "I seem to recall...did you say he was going to have sex with one of them? Angel? With a man? With Xander? My ex-boyfriend?" Her voice rose an octave.

 

"Angel!" She lunged for the door, again.

 

Doyle had so hoped she had forgotten that little tidbit.


	4. Part 4

Angel retreated into his suite, barricading the door to protect his thralls. His blood was rushing through his veins, he knew, distantly, that he had almost attacked his friends, but it did not bother him. Adrenaline still coursed through him, brought to the fore by the automatic need to protect what was his. His on the most fundamental, cellular level. His thralls. Beings who shared his blood, who were his, and only his, even more so than his Childer were.

 

The room was filled with pale candlelight, glowing golden, the air full of the scent he had not been able to ignore when he had smell the first tendrils drifting in to the Hyperion on the breeze. Now the scent filled this closed and locked room to overflowing, full, rich, singing to him, reminding him he was not always civilized, not always in control. Reminding him that he was a predator, an alpha male animal, a man with ancient roots, with millenia old instincts thrumming through his body, his brain.

 

His ears were filled with the pulses of the three men, all of whom were on top of his large bed. He had stripped them, unprotesting, of their hindering clothes, impediments that kept him from their flesh and skin. And laid them on the velvet spread, enticingly, appetizingly bare.

 

The palest skinned one, blond haired, tall, strong, the darkest toned, was the shortest of the three, also blond, but a browner blond, and very muscular, chiseled as if from a tinted marble. The striations of his muscles, gloriously perfect, begging for his master's tongue to explore. Then there was the one who was not a stranger.

 

Xander's skin tone was intermediate, his hair dark, the scent rising from him, maddening. Angel resisted no longer, crawling up onto the bed, and into the center of the three restless men who reached out for him, tongue flicking, tasting their sweating skins as he moved over them. Luscious, wonderful, blood and sweat, and his own scent mixed in. A sensual heaven/hell, a banquet filled with the torment of not being able to taste all of it, drink it all down, embrace the three at once, writhe in release with all of them.

 

He had to choose, everything cried out for him to select the One, and to dispose of the other two. He let out a nasty snarl, refusing the temptation to slash and feed, to drain one or two dry, so that there would only be one left. Only one to call to him, to feed his appetite, to demand his attention, his fangs, to feed his lust upon. To own. Just One. He growled, and the three pulled him down with them, closer to them to their throats, arched and offering.

 

Tear and feed, feed and tear. His internal, primordial vampire chanted. Eat, gorge, there is plenty, there is enough to glut yourself on, to fill your hungering belly full of hot, searing human blood. Drink, drink, until you are drunk with it, the perfect elixir of thrall blood, your bloodmark spicing the rich, redness. It is yours, take it, eat it, devour it, them. Savor this rich feast. Bathe in the blood that is yours by right.

 

The depth of Angel's hunger, and need, was telegraphed to the thralls, and they reached out, hands running over him, just as needy, just as hungry for him as he was for them. They were three men, raised in the modern times, in a country that had made them independent, free, but now, they were only his, bound as any slave in the past to this one male, this vampire. And, they could not fight and win.

 

Xander shivered. He felt Angel's cool skin brush against him. It was what he wanted, but also what he didn't want, what he wished he could run from. A man, in bed with him, naked, aroused, and he, aroused to the same degree, he who had never looked at another man and wanted to fuck, or touch or explore. Ghod, but if right now he had a choice, he would lay on his back, wrap his legs around those slim, powerful hips and beg to feel them driving into him, filling him, and slaking their lust. Because Xander, unbelievably, burned. For what he had never, before today wanted.

 

Graham was fighting to be still, and losing. He felt the vampire slide over him, reaching for Riley, and he saw his own hands reach out, circle the vampire's waist and pull him in near, so they touched all along their lengths. The body was larger, taller than he was, less defined, but he felt the strength in it, the preternatural power, that exceeded by far his own. It excited him. He had fought and sweated to put himself in this shape. So that he would have the advantage in every unarmed confrontation with another soldier another man. But, this was a vampire. Hand to hand, he stood no chance. The Vampire was his Master in every way, if he had a gun...even then, he would not be able to kill, not this man. And the thought, that he was helpless, that he was this man's, this vamp's meat, was thrilling. He wanted it. He craved it, to feel the fangs pierce his flesh and drink his life's blood. It was his reason for living. He shook his head, recognizing the thoughts, the images as being far different from what he'd always known, always felt. But he could not shake the desires free, he could not change them, or the rapid patter of his heart as the vampire's head lowered, he tilted back his head and waited for the teeth to break his fragile skin.

 

Angel stopped fighting the need, let it wash over him in an undeniable wave of ravenous hunger, desire, and ownership. It was the tanned one, the shortest, and the one with a form like a Greek god, that he attacked and fed from. It was exquisite, the slow penetration of his fangs, for the first time in his life, the double fangs lowered, not just the one, common, feeding set. All four fang's entered the flesh stretched welcomingly under his mouth, and blood rushed into his mouth to fill it with salty sweetness. Wonderful, sweet, rich, filling. Intoxicating. He hungered, he drank, the man under him moaned, clutched at him starting up the precursors to bruises on his waist. But Angel did not mind. The pain lanced through him in the back ground, adding excitement and spice.

 

More hands pulled at him, before he could drain the willing sacrifice dry. Angel felt himself lifted away, dragged to another long, succulent throat to feed at. He again struck deep and hard, giving out his own bruises, again all four fangs, again blood rushed into his mouth and again he drank, mouthful after mouthful, so wonderfully exquisite, so right, to drink, and drink and drink until he felt full....

 

But before his appetite was slaked, there was third throat, a third voice, previously unknown, but now his possession, his own, as the other two had been. Claimed. Tasted. His. Tall as he was, about his own build, only a fraction smaller, blond, blue eyed. So good, tasty, willing. His. He drank, until he was full.

 

Riley's eyes closing in submission, puzzled at the sensation, of being taken, of offering no resistance to this, he wanted this, had to have it. Had fought all his life against seeking it. The ache of the days since he had been injected with Angel's serum, unwillingly bound to the vampire, faded and turned to satisfaction, to peace, and to belonging. It was what he wanted. What he had to have if he wanted to live. His hands fisted in the vampire's hair pressing the face to his throat, the feeding mouth, his heart beating frantically in the chant, drink, drink, drink.

 

Then Angel sagged back, full so full. Amongst the sweating, sated bodies of the men. All three hearts filling his senses with the steady, strong beating of their pulses. All three warm with living blood. All three Claimed and chosen. His. His thralls. He smiled. Showing them his doubled fangs, this most intimate thing that none but a thrall might see and live. There would be more to share with his thralls, but not now, now he would sleep, surrounded by them, by the rightness of their presence. The rightness of his choice.

 

All three were his.

 

Together, they slept, he rested, watching over his own.


	5. Part 5

"From what I can gather," Wesley began, turning another yellowed, vellum page in the old, old book he was consulting. "He fed off of all three, and he didn't or couldn't drain them. So they all lived. Even a master vampire can only drink so much blood. If he didn't kill them, they are all pretty much safe, and pretty much his, for life. He chose them all."

 

"Ugh. Fine. They are his, and he isn't going to kill them." Cordelia said, shaking her head. "But what about the sex thing? I really don't want to think about Xander doing the deed with Angel. That just isn't...Xander. Or Angel. I've never seen Angel with a guy. Do they have to do that?" She waggled her fingers in the air.

 

Doyle blinked, trying to follow the waggling fingers. "I don't know if they have to, Cordelia. But if they do, what business is it of ours? We aren't sleeping with Angel, or any of the other guys. It is their business."

 

Cordelia glared at him. "For your information I was sleeping with one of them. And he is still my friend. Just because I am not with him any longer doesn't mean I don't have rights. Or that I don't care! Xander Harris isn't gay. He wouldn't have been with me if he was." She stated the last triumphantly.

 

"Hate to say this, Cordy, but being with a woman doesn't mean a man isn't gay." Gunn said, from his place half sitting on the desk hanging over Wes' shoulder while the smaller man read. She frowned at him, glared. And Doyle rushed in to fill the icy silence.

 

"Not even a gay man would be able to resist you, princess." Doyle tried to soothe her ire. Casting a begging glance at Gunn. Who ignored him. Cordelia fumed, not at all mollified.

 

"Have you seen Angel with a girl? With anyone?" Gunn asked pointedly, re-entering the conversation once it became clear Cordy wasn't going to be appeased if she wasn't distracted. "The guy does not have a love life. Or a sex life. Why should that matter, anyway?"

 

"For your information, yes." Cordy said. "I have seen him with women. Buffy for one. And Darla."

 

"And you would rather he stays with women when he's got that kind of luck? You have just convinced me he should try to play in the other field." Gunn shuddered. "Forgive me, but a guy, any guy would be better than that bitch Darla. I didn't know the Slayer, but hey, I have heard about the Angel/Angelus problem. I'd much rather he stayed Angel. I vote for the guys."

 

Wesley looked over at the fighter with some degree of surprise. Not that he had expected homophobia, exactly, but Gunn was so straight it made a ruler seem a wee bit bent. This...openess was quite unexpected. "So, you are OK with this?" Wesley asked, curiously, doing his own vague air-waving. Gunn snorted. It was sometimes hard to deal with the prissy British sensibility Wesley tried to hold on to with both hands. Though you had to admire the guy for having the balls to try to do it after all they'd seen and done backing Angel up. It had to be a hell of a challenge.

 

"Of course I am. I don't like that there are three guys up there who may not have had a choice about ending up in this situation, but it is not the guys with guys part that bugs me. It is the choice/no choice part." Gunn said, looking from face to face. He seemed to be the only one with that viewpoint.

 

"It's not like Angel had a choice either." Fred added softly. She was toying with the end of one long curl. "He had to either take them or kill them. That seems like not much of a choice for him. I must be hard for him, too."

 

They all looked at her. Stared. She had a valid point.

 

"You are right, Fred. Absolutely right. Angel was just as helpless as the others. It isn't his fault he is a vampire." Wesley said after a moment. "And it was the lesser of the two evils, I suppose, not killing them."

 

"But not the sex thing." Cordelia insisted, stubbornly. "OK, so he had to bite them, and do the vampire drinking blood thing. But not sex."

 

"He didn't have sex with us." A voice interrupted what Gunn was about to say. They all spun around to see the two strangers standing in the doorway. It was the taller of the two who had spoken. He held out a hand. "Riley, Riley Finn. I'm a...uh, friend of Buffy's. And this is Graham Miller. From Sunnydale."

 

"What are you doing down here?" Cordelia snapped, glaring at them. Her tone made the men stare at her in surprise.

 

Riley looked around, letting his hand fall away. "Uh, this is the kitchen isn't it? Angel said we could get something to eat. We're hungry. It's been a while since we've eaten."

 

"Where is Xander?" Cordy asked sharply, peering around behind the two men at the empty hall. "Oh my ghod, you left Xander with Angel, alone? Oh my ghod! How could you? You go back there and get him right now!" She raged at them, leaning forward, eyes blazing. Riley took an involuntary step back, out of her reach.

 

"Relax, lady, Xan is fine." It was the shorter of the two that answered her. "He is in the shower. Angel is asleep. So, anything worth eating around here?" He looked hopeful.

 

"Who are you?" Riley asked calmly, when Cordelia responded by putting her hands on her hips and stepping in closer, eyes narrowed. She was beautiful. She just didn't smell..right...anymore. He sighed. He had already suspected that whatever this thrall thing had done, it had ruined him for women. Even hot, gorgeous ones like this one. He liked what he saw when he looked at her, but there was no hormonal response attached to it any longer. No more juices flowing. Damn.

 

"Cordelia Chase. And Xander is my boyfriend." The beauty stated, defiantly. Riley was shocked, he hadn't known Xander had a girlfriend.

 

"Ex-boyfriend." Wesley clarified in response to the raised brows of the two men. "Come in. This is the kitchen and there is no reason you shouldn't find something to eat. Angel keeps real people food here, but be prepared to run into packages of blood if you open the fridge. Takes some getting used to. I am Wesley by the way."

 

"Hey, no problem. Good to meet you, Wesley." Riley moved further into the kitchen. His eyes moved to the tall, dark skinned man who held out a hand.

 

"Gunn. And unless I am slipping, I'd say the two of you were soldiers. Military?" He looked them over. T-shirts, jeans, trainers. Waterproof watches. Not much else. No rings. No jewelry, no jackets.

 

"Para-military. Used to be anyway. Part of the Initiative. Out of Sunnydale. Until they decided we should take part in this little escapade." They shook hands. Graham coming forward after Riley was done.

 

"Good to meet you, Gunn." Graham said. "Just want you to know, we weren't in on this plan. We were...drafted, so to speak."

 

"What plan?" Wesley asked curiously.

 

"Getting hooked on Angel and Angel hooked on us." Riley explained, opening the fridge. Grimacing, not at the blood packets, but at the nearly empty shelves. There was lettuce, tomatoes, mayonnaise, but he wasn't in the mood for a salad or a sandwich.

 

"I feel like I haven't eaten in a week. Raw vegetalbes are not going to cut it, Ri. Any good take out around here?" Graham asked looking into the refrigerator over his firend's shoulder.

 

"Son," Gunn answered, after they had all exchanged incredulous looks. "This is Los Angeles. Of course there is good take out. What do you want? Chinese? Japanese? Korean? Mongolian barbecue? Italian? Pizza? Mexican? Hamburgers? New Age Cuisine? Lots of healthy fiber?"

 

 

"Whoa, whoa! I should have remembered." Riley laughed, holding up a hand. He turned to Graham. Who was smiling back, drool pratically running down both of their chins.

 

"We just have to keep repeating to ourselves, 'This isn't the Hellmouth....this isn't the Hellmouth.' They aren't afraid to deliver here." Graham said, grey eyes twinkling. "So, I am up for pizza, how about you? Anybody?" He looked around.

 

"You paying? I am down with it. No anchovies though. Anything else is fine by me. Even pineapple." Gunn said.

 

"No chicken on mine, or bell peppers." Wesley said, patting his stomach. "Makes me belch."

 

"Ewww." Fred said, wrinkling her nose. "Anything is fine with me."

 

"No Canadian bacon, peppers or onions. Or linguicia." Cordelia said. She had seen the look Riley gave her. She preened. "Extra mushroom and olives. Extra sauce, easy on the cheese. Oh, and Parmesan sprinkles, please." She smoothed her skirt.

 

"OK...." Riley looked around the room. "Phone? Phone book?" He asked.

 

"No need for the book," Doyle said. "There is only one pizza place we order from." He pulled out his cellphone. Flipping it on. "So we going with...." He ticked the items off on his fingers.

 

"Two extra large, no anchovies, no onion, no Candian bacon, no peppers, no linguicia, extra mushroom, extra olives, extra sauce, pineapple..easy on the cheese..."

 

"No chicken" Wesely reminded him.

 

"No chicken....Fine. Sprinkles...." Doyle punched the speed dial, repeated the order and hung up. He saw Riley and Graham staring at him. "What?"

 

"He's our memory man." Cordelia said affectionately. "Comes with the half demon part."

 

"Half demon?" Riley asked warily. Graham stepped up to flank him. Both men looking Doyle over and not noticing anything out of place.

 

"Yeh. Rawr!" Cordelia flexed her immaculately filed and polished fingernails over her head and snarled sweetly. Doyle rolled his eyes, and Wesley coughed to cover his laugh. Fred giggled. And Gunn grinned.

 

"You can tell us about the plan you aren't a part of while we eat." Doyle said, while the Sunnydale men stared at him..


	6. Part 6

"So," Cordelia said, winding the long string of cheese around her finger. "Why didn't Angel have sex with you?" She asked, before she started to nibble the tiny bit of cheese from around her finger. Her tongue flicked out, just the pink tip, and trapped the bit so she could cut it off with a tiny bite of perfect, white teeth, framed by full lips.

 

Wesley, Doyle, Gunn and Riley all had to tear their eyes away from the sight, Wesley hurriedly crossed his legs. Graham continued eating placidly, as if the view was nothing special. Fred reached for another piece of the pie, honestly not aware of the byplay.

 

Riley shook his head. "Huh?" He asked, dazed, his eyes wanting to check out what she was doing with her mouth, those soft, sauce-slippery, slick lips.... "Oh, fuck." He muttered weakly.

 

"Yeah, Riley." Graham said, calm and steady, with a hint of amusement. "That *is* what the lady was asking."

 

Wesley choked, trying to concentrate on balancing his plate on his knee, and wielding his knife and fork to some effect. Graham took another bite of his slice, chewing. Gunn was the only one who saw the twinkling in his eyes. Doyle was studiously trying to pretend he was somewhere else, stuffing pizza in his mouth.

 

"Nobody eats pizza with *utensils*, Wes." Gunn mumbled under his breath to the man sitting next to him on the couch. Wesley glared at him, gripping his knife and fork stubbornly, and didn't bother to answer.

 

"Uh." Riley started, referring to the subject he really wished Cordelia hadn't raised. His dad had brought him up not to talk about sex with women he wasn't planning on being intimate with, good boys didn't do that. It upset a lady's sensibilities...only Cordelia wasn't cooperating. "Uh....I don't know?" He offered, lamely, hoping against hope she'd be satisfied with the evasion. Be as relieved as he was to have a possible 'out' of this awkward conversation. But of course with his luck....

 

"Well, you should know, I mean you were there. Did you fight him off? Did you tell him no? Was he not interested? Did he fall asleep before he could do it? There had to be a reason." Cordelia persisted, finishing with the curled string of cheese. Lick. Lick.

 

"God, Cordelia!" Doyle hissed, mortified. He grabbed of a napkin, mopping up the reddish splotch running down his shirt, after he'd squeezed his slice too hard.

 

"We were kind of busy at the time." Graham supplied, mildly, when Riley just sat there, mouth agape. Cordelia's sharp eyes zeroed in on him like a hawk's.

 

"Too busy to have sex? Too busy to think about it? I didn't think that was possible. Not with men. Are you gay?" She persisted, with the same tenacious drive that her colleagues usually admired.

 

Riley was coughing by then, Doyle pounded him helpfully on the back. Graham actually seemed to think about the question before he answered it, his grey eyes serious. "I have found that to be untrue. There have been more times in my life that I was too busy to have sex, than there have been times when I was free to indulge."

 

"But...are you gay? I know Xander isn't, I would have known. And I don't think he is." She inclined her head regally at the sputtering ex-soldier, Riley. She had noticed the looks he was sending her way. Both puzzled and interested. "But you...I can't tell."

 

"Never thought about it." Graham said. The silence lengthened. They all leaned forward waiting for more...until they figured out there wasn't going to be anymore.

 

"What do you mean you never thought about it? That is not an answer." Cordelia snapped, pulling another long strand of cheese from her first slice of pizza. Fred was already on her second helping, the men on thirds and fourths, but not likely to get much further with this subject being discussed. Wesley was frozen in mid-bite, loaded fork lifted partway to his mouth.

 

"I mean, I never thought about it, never worried one way or the other if I was gay or wasn't." Graham said after he'd chewed and swallowed. Riley shifted, uncomfortable for his friend even if it really seemed Graham wasn't troubled.

 

"Well, surely you know if you are attracted to men or women...or both?" Cordelia prodded, leaning forward. "I mean usually people just know those kind of things about themselves. From experience." She stressed the last word.

 

"No." Graham said after a minute's contemplation, shaking his head.

 

"No?!" This time it was Cordelia giving a near shriek, followed by Cordy and Wesley together. "No, what?!"

 

"No, I don't know." Graham said. "From experience."

 

"What? Are you...are you...normal? Are you a demon or something?" Cordelia half shouted. "How can you not know?"

 

"'Cause that is just not normal." Gunn finished for her. "Sorry, old son. I have to vote with the princess on this one. That is just strange. I have never met a man who couldn't tell me where his interests lay." He shrugged, "Not saying you are lying or anything like that. Just...it ain't normal."

 

Graham nodded, and drank from his can of soda. As if the conversation was concluded. It took less than a minute before Cordelia exploded once more, throwing her hands up, abandoning her pizza entirely. She shook her finger, the one she had been licking, at him.

 

"So, OK, Mr. Soldier Guy, how do you pick who you have sex with if you aren't sure what attracts you?" She inquired.

 

Graham took another drink, swirled the can. "Don't know."

 

"You *have* had sex before right? I mean how old are you?" She asked, pointedly. "You aren't like...way younger than you look or anything, right?"

 

"Twenty-two." Graham said. "And no. I haven't."

 

"You haven't?" Again Cordelia and Wesley in harmony. Wesley had the grace to blush, but Cordy, plunged on. "You expect me to believe you are a virgin? No sex of any kind? Waiting for marriage kind of thing?"

 

"Religious conviction?" Wesley asked helpfully. Doyle groaned, hanging his head, hitting his forehead against his palm.

 

"OK. Stop. Why on earth should this man, who hasn't seen us before today, want to tell us, or you, intimate things about himself? It's private, princess. We are strangers." He emphasized the last word. The half-demon made a winding gesture with his hands. "Ergo, leave the man in peace."

 

"He's...look at him. He can't be..." Cordelia said. "He's...well, he's gorgeous."

 

Fred tilted her head to the side and looked Graham over. "Can't be what?" She asked, taking a healthy bite of her neatly folded in half, fourth slice.

 

"It doesn't matter, Fred." Wesley said, quietly. "None of our business. Not important."

 

"Oh. OK." She smiled. "Cordy is right. He is pretty."

 

"But....he shouldn't...not Angel....Not his first time...." Cordelia was sputtering under her breath. "Not when he doesn't even know what it's like."

 

"Princess...." Doyle began, warningly. Thinking how he was going to strangle on his own tongue if she didn't stop. Or blow a blood vessel from trying not to blush so hard.

 

"No, he should have a chance to figure it out...." She was shaking her head. "With a woman." Adamantly.

 

"Yeah, right." Riley said, sarcastically. "I am sure Angel won't mind if he just goes off and does a little experimenting now, will he? In the interest of being fair and all." He looked at Cordelia. Ghod, she was beautiful, sleek and sexy, curves in all the right places, why wasn't he panting after her? He looked harder. Her mouth was wet, lush, her lips lick-able, oh Christ....Graham slapped him upside the head.

 

"Ow!" Riley complained rubbing at the stinging spot. Shooting his friend a reproachful glare.

 

"You shouldn't be looking at her like that, Ri. Take my word for it, Angel is not going to like that." Graham said after Cordelia stalked out of the room, shaking her head and muttering.

 

"Maybe he wouldn't mind?" Riley said after a split second of hesitation. He sounded plaintive, even to his own ears. Raising his soda to his mouth.

 

Angel's hand fastened around his throat, under his jawbone, pulling him across the back of the couch, over the edge, stretching that long, tall body out. Riley swallowed hard to get the last of the soda down before he choked on it, the kind of swallow that hurt going down, like a fist jammed in his throat.

 

"Oh, I'd say I do mind." The vampire said, his eyes blazing golden-red. "I mind very much, Mine Own. You are mine, your blood, your body, your heart, your neck...all of it. Is. Mine." He reached down with his free hand and grabbed a handfull of Riley's crotch. "Your cock. Mine."

 

Riley gathered himself, preparing to flip and free the hold on his neck. Graham was suddenly splayed across his thighs, holding him down.

 

"Don't, Ri. He's strong enough to keep his grip." Graham spoke rapidly, grabbing his friend's forearm, squeezing tight. "He'll snap your neck."

 

Gunn nodded from his seat. "He will." He agreed, interested in spite of himself. Waiting to see what would happen next.

 

"So," Xander said from behind the vampire, as he entered the kitchen. "What did I miss?"


	7. Part 7

"Angel!" Xander exclaimed when he saw the vampire's hand clenched around Riley's throat. Without thinking he was moving rapidly forward, he reached out to help the other man, grabbing at Angel's arm. Barely making contact before Angel objected.

 

Angel roared, knocking the offending hand away, and fastened his own grip in Xander's shirt, twisting it, and lifting Xander up off of the flooring, while the young man clutched with both hands at the vampire's forearm. Holding one man in each hand, Angel headed for his sanctuary. That quickly he was out the door, bearing his two thralls with him. Graham wasted no time in following, earning a threatening growl.

 

"Please. Let me come. Please." Graham was crouched down, presenting himself in the least offensive stance he could think of and still follow the vampire. He had to be there, in case there was something he could do to keep this from going very wrong.

 

Angel said nothing, just shooting Graham a warning, golden-eyed glare, and dragged his other two thralls down the hall and into his suite. Graham hurried after, slipping into the rooms just before the door was slammed shut.

 

Down the hall, in the room recently abandoned by Angel and his thralls, all eyes were wide and all mouths gaped at the lightning quick encounter, and it's violent climax. That was not how Angel acted, except in the middle of a battle. But that was when he was fighting evil. And willing to kill. This time, hopefully, he wouldn't kill.

 

Wesley shuddered. He didn't know much about what to expect from a vampire with thralls. He had no grasp of the finer points. He had never personally encountered this situation. Angel had fed from all three men. Wesley thought that made them safe. But, he had not claimed them sexually, as was the norm. Were they still at risk of being killed? Was that what was happening even now? Was Angel tearing out their throats? And for ghod's sake, why? What had been the trigger? If the trio lived, how were they going to avoid a repeat of this incident?

 

Gunn's voice was first to break the silence. "Well, what the fuck just happened? And what the fuck do we do now?" He asked. He didn't swear often, but if he was going to be dealing with one of his friends killing three other men he was just getting to know, and starting to like...well he thought that deserved a little profanity.

 

Fred just looked at him, hand over her mouth, what remained of her last helping of pizza upside down in her lap. Wesley shook himself out of his trance, and the universal constant of anything, everything always landing messy side down....and cleared his throat.

 

"I am not sure. Angel took blood from them. As far as I know that indicates he has chosen them. That should convey a relative safety. And thus they should not be at risk of death by his hand." His brow furrowed, as he tried to recall any bit of information that might shed light on the problem.

 

"Fang." Fred interrupted, in a low whisper. Her eyes huge saucers. Her fingers picked at the gooey mess in her lap, dotting her short, lime green skirt. But absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

 

"What?" Doyle said, distracted, emerald green eyes glittering frantically.

 

"His fangs. He'll kill them with his fangs. Not his hands." Fred offered. "He'll bite them to death, and drink all their blood. That's how he'll kill them. Their blood drip, drip, dripping down his chin."

 

"Uh." Wesley began, strangely fascinated, and equally repulsed, by Fred's graphic imagery, true as it might turn out to be, then frowned. " The thing is, we don't know yet if he is going to kill them. He has not taken any of them, as far as we know, uhm,...physically. With the possible exception of Xander, after he was left alone with Angel. The other two men were very certain in their protestations."

 

"I think what we just saw qualifies as physically being taken." Doyle asserted, dryly. Wesley felt the blush flow over his cheeks. "He dragged their sorry arses right out of here. Physically."

 

"Sexually." Wesley ground his teeth, as he clarified his meaning. "And that one, Graham, he wasn't dragged.He followed him, completely voluntarily."

 

Doyle nodded, reluctantly. "They may have lied? Not wanted to admit that they had used like that by another man? Lots of men would lie. I might lie myself." He suddered at the thought of...well...that happening to *him*. He would definitely lie.

 

"I don't think so. That Graham, he strikes me as not likely to be embarrassed by much of anything. I mean, he admitted to a room full os strangers he was a virgin. Not what most men would say out loud. Of course it is possible he thought it was none of our business, and lied about that, too. Which it was not. Not really. But, it is, because of what might happen with Angel." Wesley faltered to a stop.

 

"And that means..." Gunn asked into the silence. Once the inevitable rambling had ended. "The practical, easily understood version, right guys? Just what are we in for? What is next? What do we do?" He looked from the half-demon to the researcher.

 

"It means we don't know enough to say what will or will not happen." Doyle answered at last, earning a nod of agreement from Wesley. Wesley lowered his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing it between thumb and forefinger. Not finding the ease he was seeking.

 

"Well, that is a relief. I'd hate to know what was going to happen. It would be such a change from how we usually operate, I am not sure I'd know how to react." Gunn glowered at the two of them. They were the information portion of this equation. They were supposed to figure it out. sort through the info and then he'd make the action decisions.

 

"The question now is, what do we do?" Gunn prompted after a long pause.

 

"How do we find out more? Who do we know who has more information? And how do we get it?" Wesley took up the line of thought. Pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up to rest in their usual location. He sat forward eagerly. "Who do we consult?"

 

"Lorne," Doyle said immediately. His own satisfaction with the idea washing over him. Lorne was a veritable encyclopedia of odd and esoteric knowledge. Useful info.

 

"Giles." Wesley added. The older watcher was a fount of information, the more out there the better.

 

"Wolfram and Hart." Fred responded. Gunn blinked. Shaking his head, and just when the ideas seemed to be coming along so well.

 

"Sorry, I am not sure Wolfram and Hart...." He started, carefully. A damn poor choice of resources, in his very humble opinion..

 

"Sweetheart..." Doyle began, planning to quash that line of inquiry in a hurry.

 

"Their computers." Fred explained. "I can stay right here, and worm my way in to their system. It is sooo easy. And it is fun, too." Most of the pizza was now resting on a napkin, what remained on her, was not going to come off easily. Maybe not even with repeated washings. She sighed tugging at the pale but vibrant green material. It had been such a nice skirt. One of her favorites. Still, if she got to play in W&H's computers....perhaps it had been worth it. She could always get a new skirt. Maybe one of Cordelia's. She had so many, she sometimes never missed the ones that vanished into Fred's much smaller closet. Yes, that would be quite satisfactory.

 

"Oh, fine." Gunn said then stopped. They were all looking at him. "What?"

 

"Any suggestions?" Wesley asked politely, hands folded primly on his knees.

 

"Nope. I am the action part of this partnership. You guys figure the research and information angle out. Then let me take care of what needs taking care of." Gunn said. All eyes moved down the hall towards Angel's suite. Gunn was glad his skin was dark, because the blush was instant. "Not what I meant. Not that at all."

 

 

Doyle waited until the voice at the other end of the phone call spoke a greeting. Then it was his turn. "Lorne, long time no see."

 

"Four days ago," The green, club owner reminded him.

 

"What I said, too long." Doyle said. Then he cut to the chase. "Lorne, we have some serious trouble. Can you come to the Hotel?"

 

"Well, hello to you to." Lorne responded. "Exactly what kind of trouble? Just so I'll know if I am walking voluntarily into World War three." Now he sounded less friendly and far more suspicious than Doyle liked.

 

It was now or never, Doyle decided. "Angel, thralls, three of them, a locked door. Probably blood." He said, ticking off the important points on his fingers.

 

"Oh my. Why didn't you say so? I thought that Cordy wanted to use the bar for another party. Took me days to clean it the last time. Where that girl finds her friends I don't know. Give me half an hour to bring Mark up to speed, then I'll be right there."

 

Lorne paused, and Doyle could almost feel the other demon's wheels turning. "You are sure it is Angel? Not Angelus? I mean Angel doesn't seem the type to go for thralls."

 

Another pause, this one different, as if the larger demon had just realized something important. "Wait. You said three? Three? Doyle...Three? That's not...."

 

"Yes. I know. I mean, I don't know, that's the problem. Or it seems to be one of the problems." Doyle agreed.

 

"Understood.Make that twenty minutes." And Lorne hung up.

 

 

Xander hit the wide bed and rolled to a stop when he bumped into the headboard. It was a huge, carved monstrosity of solid hardwood, easily large enough to accommodate two modern, king sized mattresses. On the bright side it wasn't a coffin, the downside, Angel seemed really pissed.

 

Riley was close behind Xander, tossed down by the vampire holding his throat. Riley gagged, clawing at the hand until it released him, then he spent long moments coughing, fighting to replenish his depleted oxygen. He sagged, not trying to stop the hands that quickly tore his pants off, ignoring his t-shirt. He was unceremoniously spun over to lay on his stomach.

 

Then Riley felt his alarm growing. Angel covered his body with his own, hand fisting in the short hair at the back of his head, turning him, until the side of his face was pressed into the coverlet, his own face coming to rest, mouth on the ex-soldier's cheek. Riley could feel the sharp indentations of extended fangs, nearly puncturing his flesh. Riley struggled, it was an automatic response, and Angel bore down harder, growling menacingly, until Riley was nearly unable to breathe.

 

"Hold still." The velvet voice hissed into his ear. "Do not make me break you, my thrall."

 

Angel growled once more, when he felt the bed dip, but his senses told him it was only Graham, he simply reached out and cuffed the thrall, knocking him flat onto the bed. Making sure he knew his place, and that he was not to interfere. Then the vampire turned his attention back to the man sprawled out underneath him, who was only just managing to catch his breath.

 

Angel nuzzled his face onto the back of Riley's neck, licking over the fragile bones that moved beneath the young man's skin. He was angry, but not homicidal over his thrall's actions. He had been flirting, talking of another in a sexually suggestive manner. Angel was not about to share that kind of attention with anyone. His thralls belonged to him. They would be taught the proper way to behave, and learn the limits he found acceptable.

 

Angel set his weight against the back of the man, sniffing the freshly washed scent at the nape of Riley's neck. His knees worked between the long, bare legs, forcing them apart, wide, open. Riley let out a grunt and resisted, tried to turn over, found himself unable, the vampire was far too strong.

 

Graham glided forward, on his knees, untucking his shirt as he went, stripping it off. He was not going to sit here, master vampire or not, and watch Riley be raped. Angel immediately fixed him with threatening eyes. Graham slowed his movements, lowered his gaze, shucked his pants and briefs, lay down on the bed next to Riley and the vampire who was on top of him. He stretched out his arm, offering the pulse point at his wrist to Angel.

 

"Please, master?" He asked, his tone both wanting and careful. The vampire turned towards him again, eyes flicking between his face and the offered wrist. Definitely interested, Graham noted.

 

"Graham what are you doing?" Xander hissed at him from the top of the big bed, panic coloring his lowered voice. "Don't feed him blood, it'll make him worse."

 

"I am not feeding him just to feed him, Xan, I am distracting him *by* feeding him. If I don't he'll rip Ri a new one, literally. Go find something, grease, lotion, anything that we can use as lube." Graham said, hoping the vampire would not take offense. Xander hadn't moved. "Get moving."

 

"You done this before?" Graham asked when Xander returned with a bottle and a tube in his hands. Graham looked them over, deciding on the tube of thick, oily cream. "That one," he said, and Xander set the bottle aside. "Get up here. Gently." No way he wanted the vampire to be startled or jolted enough to rip the fangs out of his flesh and tear a chunk out of him.

 

"No, You?" Xander said, breathlessly. "I've done about everything else you can with a vamp, but not this."

 

"No. But, the best method seems pretty obvious. We have to get the grease on Angel and into Ri. Hurry up and do it." Graham said, as Angel changed the angle of his feeding, and the young man gasped as the bite went deeper. It hurt, but it also felt amazingly good, as if he was being licked, suckled in a very sensitive place, pleasurably, if intensely. His nipples had long since hardened into eager points. His erection was well on it's way to full-fledged.

 

Xander, less caught up in the party, froze looking from the tube in his hand to the men on the bed. His brain provided him with a picture, in vivid and unwelcome detail, hands, fingers, anus and cock, of what Graham was telling him to do. He so did not want to do that. "Uh...."

 

"Give it to me then, Harris. Hurry up. Give him your wrist, keep him occupied while I do it." Graham said urgently fighting to keep from falling further into the beckoning, sensual haze.

 

Xander all but threw the tube at Graham. He rolled up his sleeve and stuck his wrist under Angel's nose, grimacing in anticipation and against his better judgment. Graham was right, they had to protect and look after each other. Or one or more of them was going to get badly hurt, perhaps even die. Riley was in the worst position, and Xander felt he owed the man something for that, if Riley was there, about to get fucked, that meant Xander was not. And for that, he was supremely grateful. So what if he had to give up a little blood in exchange for not being the bottom boy? He could manage it.

 

Graham scooted much closer, and twisted the cap off the tube, squirting a long string of the thick cream onto his fingers. He reached cautiously for Angel's prominent erection, damn the man was big, and spread the lube onto him figuring that if he was going to get only part of the job done he'd better make it this part, in case the vamp suddenly stopped being distracted enough by Xan's blood, and grinding into Ri's back, and thrust inside, instead.

 

The heavy, solid weight of the vampire's erection was not all unapealing, though Graham hadn't much to compare it to. The only other penis he'd held in his hand was his own. Angel was definitely larger, and thicker, but not embarrassingly so. He was also uncut. And Graham supposed he'd have time to explore that later, probably more time than he'd be comfortable with if this scene was anything to go by. He moved on to taking care of Riley.

 

"Ri, sorry about this, man, I am going to touch you, get you slicked up, it's for your own safety, OK?" At first the taller young man stiffened in reposnse to Graham's hand on his nearer buttock, then he let out a huge whoosh of air and nodded. Graham felt relief flow through him. They would get through it, together.

 

His finger smeared the greasy cream over the tiny puckered opening to Riley's body. He went quickly but took care not to be too rushed. Riley had to be relaxed as possible. One finger entered the heated opening, smoothly, Graham could tell Riley was fighting to relax. He rubbed at his friends hip and side.

 

"That's it. One finger in, now I am going for two. He's big, but you can take it. I'll help you. Get you opened up, Ri. So it'll feel alright." Graham slid a second finger inside. Trying not to get lost in the strangely erotic act of being inside his friend's body like this.

 

Xander added to the mix with a tiny whimper, and the grey-eyed man looked up to see Xander's brown, dilated gaze boring into his. His wrist was still in Angel's mouth, pierced by the wicked fangs, but he wasn't suffering if the distinct bulge in his pants was any indication. Xander wiggled his hips, his free hand going to cover the mound in his pants, with a guilty motion, he rubbed at himself. Not suffering at all, Graham thought, then went back to his task.

 

He didn't get much further, because Angel was suddenly more than ready to fuck, Graham had only just started to push in with three fingers, he hastily pulled out at the furious snarl the vampire directed at him. Angel immediately positioned himself and pressed in, and Riley let out a shocked breath, hissing with discomfrot. "Relax, Ri." Graham whispered. "Don't fight it. Breathe."

 

"Slow, master, please. Don't hurt him, don't hurt your thrall." Graham murmured into Angel's ear. Xander let out a moan, and Graham could tell Angel was biting harder. Xander had his pants unzipped by now, his hand inside the flaps. He was writhing, taking great care not to pull his wrist free from the arousing suction of the vampire feeding there.

 

Riley let out a cry, and Angel's body was suddenly up close and tight to the soldier's back. He was inside, to the hilt, and he was moving. In and out. Riley's head dropped forward. He cried out, hurting, flanks and thighs trembling with the effort not to fight to get free. Graham pulled one of Riley's arms up, moving it to the vampire's mouth, pushing Xander's out of the way. Xander sighed his objection but Graham was insitent. If Angel fed on him, then Riley would feel less pain, more pleasure from the bite, from everything.

 

Angel, willing, fastened onto the offered arm, sinking his teeth in, and Riley's cries became less painfilled, and more breathless. His hips raised, a fraction, almost too little to see at first, then he was pushing back, meeting the lunging thrusts with his own. He moaned, not fighting it, reveling in it. Enjoying it, it was an exquisite torture, an erotic sensation, being filled, dilated, mastered, and taken hard, like this. His back rippled with the strain, but he never stopped his motions, his need burning between his rounded cheeks, and deep inside his body where Angel's hard flesh struck something, and Riley screamed his reaction.

 

"Oh, ghod." He cried out. "Oh, ghod, oh ghod, oh ghod...." sweat ran down his face. Graham gaped, at last caught unprepared. Christ, Riley was beautiful like this, moaning and writhing, and out of all control, a wanting, needing, sexually maddened creature, fully matched by the vampire riding him, sliding deeply in, and out, adding his growling, possessive grunts to the mix. Graham's hair was on end, his breath coming short, hard, his prick harder than it had ever been. Ghod, he was *not* going to survive this after all, he thought, hand squeezing his own cock.

 

 

"It's called a blood-circle." Lorne explained once he'd heard the information they had. "And it is a really, really bad idea. I don't suppose there is any chance of talking Angel out of it?"


	8. Part 8

Buffy burst into the Magic Shoppe. Normally she would have seen Anya behind the register, it was still jarring that she didn't, but Anya was no where to be found. Nor were Willow or Tara. Or Dawn. And that worried her more than anything else. Willow and Tara, or Anya, they might do something new and unusual, like take off for a few days without saying anything to Buffy. But, not her younger sister. Dawn didn't have anywhere else to go. Dawn was just a sixteen year old kid.

 

Buffy stopped when she saw no one behind the counter at all. Panic gripped her at the spine and she was ready to call out when she heard Giles' voice coming from the back room. Relief flooded over her. She couldn't handle anyone else going missing. She needed someone to help her figure out what was going on, and how to stop it. She started across the floor, the voice coming clearer as she neared the door to the back room. Giles was seated in a wooden chair, it's back to the door.

 

"A blood-circle." The man was saying in tones of reluctant reverence, along with a heavy dose of fear. That was a tone she hadn't heard for a while. Not since the Master was killed. Giles, since then had been less excited, less motivated, less interested. They still fought the good fight, but the low level demons and young vampires were not a challenge. Buffy knew Giles was bored. She liked hearing that tone from him again, even if I meant that there was more trouble coming. He sounded alive.

 

"I have never seen a blood-circle myself. Just read of it, talked to a fellow watcher who had seen one. There is only one watcher who has seen it, this is remarkable, what an opportunity, it will have to be studied, recorded. Just who is involved in the circle? Do you have any names?" Giles was leaning forward, as if to get closer to the other conversationalist, as if that one was not a hundred miles distant, and on the other end of the phone.

 

Giles excitement and researcher's keen interest was fast outpacing the healthy trepidation he had originally felt. He dragged his notepad closer to him, pen gripped tightly, poised over the paper as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. Then his whole body seemed to sag in on itself, grow smaller. His shoulders rounded, slumped. He let out a sound of pained disappointment.

 

"Oh, no." He said quietly. His voice was choked with regret, with tears. Buffy went cold. Giles didn't cry. He kept the stiff upper lip, he stayed strong for her, for all of the Scoobies. For everyone who wasn't here any longer. She flashed to the reason for his distress. It had something to do with the missing. With Dawn, Tara, Willow, Jenny, Xander, Anya.

 

Then he closed his eyes and sank back into his chair. "Oh no. This is a horrible thing. It will hurt her terribly. Are you absolutely certain, there is no possibility of a mistake?" He sounded so sad, his voice tremulous. Buffy went to him silently, and placed a supporting hand on his shoulder. Giles let out a scream of startlement, leaping to his feet, and spinning around.

 

Buffy recoiled instinctively, taking in Giles' pale face. It was bad. The news. The worst. She knew it. And she had to stay here, not run. She had to stay and find out why she would want to run, and run, and run.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Riley woke to dimness, the light that came from a night-light plugged into a socket in the en suite bathroom the only illumination. He lay perfectly still absorbing the room around him, and the bed, in which he lay, far from alone.

 

He felt on one side the warmth of a familiar form, he knew, from their time together in service, it was Graham. On the other side was a cooler presence. Less familiar. One he had heard of often in whispers and asides from Buffy and her friends, had seen a few times, but had not known well until last night. Now he could say they were acquainted intimately, at least in a physical way.

 

He ached. His thighs, especially the inner thighs, his buttocks, his lower back. His muscles were screaming with pain, strain, misuse and overuse. He remembered why. His ass was telling him in no uncertain terms he'd done something it was not prepared for, in spite of Graham's efforts. Not that there had been a whole lot of choice.

 

Angel had done it. But Riley had not fought. He was man enough to admit it. For whatever reason, he had not tried to stop it. He had lain under the vampire, parted his legs. And let himself get royally fucked.

 

Not rape. He hadn't really said no in clear terms. He hadn't pushed Angel away. He'd lifted his ass, offered himself once things started to really get going. Angel had taken what he offered, and filled him with a long, thick piece of vampire-meat. And Riley hadn't said no.

 

Which didn't jive at all with what he knew about himself. He was heterosexual. He had no doubts despite what had occurred in this bed last night. He turned his head seeing Angel's pale, muscular side touched by the gentle light. Riley had done it, with this man, this vampire. More than once. In fact once it was done...he had fought the separation he knew was inevitable. He had missed the thickness as it slid from him. He wanted to keep the vampire locked to his body. But. Even so. Riley knew he was not gay. Not bi. It was just Angel. Somehow.

 

Riley felt like an addict. He was still thinking about how Angel had felt inside of him. The stretch, the movement, the deep, powerful strokes that had rocked his world. He ached. No getting around that. But, if Angel woke and turned to him...he would roll onto his back, open his legs again. Cradle the vampire in the "V" of his thighs, as he took him inside. He would ask, in a whisper, or even a shout, if it took that, for the vampire to sink fangs as well as prick into him. Because that had been so good.

 

Feeding Angel, while Angel was balls deep in him, well Riley had craved it. He had hungered, bent his neck back, shivered in delight and completion when the fangs had hit the mark. As his blood was suckled from him, from the holes, they became the most erogenous zone on his entire body. Angel pumped into him, as he drank, and drank.

 

The growls had struck through him. The feral sounds, and animal aggressiveness. The possessive hands, the way Angel's big body had covered his, broader than he was by a fraction, stronger than he was by much more than a fraction. The sweat had beaded on his skin, gluing their bodies together. They'd moved as one, mating.

 

Graham's hands had touched him, in places they hadn't touched before, hadn't thought of touching, best friends though they were. He was grateful that Graham had not hesitated to do it, to stick fingers slicked with lube into him, opening him, saving him from being torn. Graham, steady, reliable, and always practical. A frighteningly knowledgeable virgin.

 

On the far side of the bed Xander sat up in the almost-dark, looking around as if trying to re-orient himself. Riley watched for a moment, and now rose up on his elbows, wincing. Xander sensed the movement and turned, his dark eyes meeting Riley's blue ones. He saw it, the moment all the memories of the night came back to Xander, in a wave, the flush rising up his neck to his cheeks. Riley saw concern and a touch of embarrassment in the other man's face. He knew without looking into a mirror his own expression was the same.

 

Xander had watched him having sex. Watched him, a man, submit without a fight to another man, watched him let himself be fucked. Heard him ask for it, beg for it with words and without. He hadn't wanted to see it, nor had Riley wanted him to. The choice, once again, clearly not theirs. Xander now, obviously wondering if he would do the same when his turn came.

 

Riley had no idea of Xander's past history with sex, beyond that he had once been in love with Buffy, and that his major relationship to date was with a former vengeance demon who talked about sex as if she was discussing whether or not to have toast with her scrambled eggs. Both female. His best friend was Willow, another woman. Strong, forceful women.

 

No men. Now Angel. What Riley'd heard about Angel and Xander...they had never gotten along. They actively disliked each other, Xander sniping at the older man, Angel glowering. It made Riley grateful he had not known Angel so much. He had a few encounters, and had felt the vampire put his relationship with Buffy at risk. Which he didn't like. But, he had not the years of interaction which drove Xander's dislike.

 

He couldn't imagine what Xander was thinking now. Contemplating the time it would be his turn to submit, to lay under Angel and let the vampire take him. What would it be like? Letting someone you were afraid of, or hated, fuck you, and not be able to stop it? Damn. That had to suck for Xander. Riley's own troubles with the situation weren't nearly so bad.

 

Graham stirred, murmuring something low into his pillow, muffling it to the point Riley couldn't decipher it. He turned away from Xander, felt the bed shift as Xander stood walking away, towards the bathroom. Graham was awake, laying still, his eyes open, calm, alert. He looked Riley over, all that he could see, assessing him, measuring him for upset, distress, which Riley was surprised was minimal in himself. Graham obviously came to the same conclusion. He sat up.

 

"You alright?" Graham asked, quietly, grey eyes steady. And strangely Riley was, he decided. Better in an odd way than Xander was. Because Xander was anticipating, dreading his turn.


	9. Part 9

Dr. Walsh frowned at the monitor. She had made it abundantly clear to all of the Thralls she had released that they were to contact her within a week of meeting their targets. She frowned. Her email address had been drilled into them. Hundreds of repetitions. They knew it by heart. None had contacted her.

 

The next batch would have implanted tracking devices. No matter what her scientists argued. They had convinced her that the vampires would hear the devices, sense them, and kill the Thralls. Well that had happened to two of them already, and without the damn trackers. Now she couldn't find the others.

 

A story from New Jersey had caught her eye. Two bodies had been found, drained of blood, throats ripped out. Women. Young. As if they had been torn apart by a wild animal. She knew without seeing the photos that they would be two of her Thralls. She ground her teeth. Was it possible all of them had been killed? After only one week? Why else would they fail to follow their training and use the email contact address?

 

Jaw clenched, she sent her high priority request to the Medical Examiner for the autopsy reports and photos. She would know soon enough. New Jersey. Where the strange female vampire had been, Dru. Where she had released Anya, who had refused to give her last name, Lt. Paulette Aronson and Jenny Callender. Were they the ones who were dead? And were all three of them dead? If not, which one had survived and why? It was vitally important that she find out the answers if she was going to be able to control this situation, and future vampires she bound to her Thralls.

 

No bodies that matched the description of the rest of her experimental subjects were in any of the police databases. They might still be alive. They might yet find a way to contact her. If they were alive and didn't contact her, she would eventually find out, and she had plenty of hit teams left under her command. Any loose ends would be efficiently dealt with.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel woke with the sensation of being watched. Not threatened, just as if too many eyes were on him. He lay without moving, without reacting, until he had located all the others inside of the room. Three heartbeats. They weren't moving. They were just sitting, watching him. He didn't like the feeling of being watched. He rolled over, careful, prepared for anything, and came face to face with his three...Thralls. He blinked.

 

Christ. He had forgotten. Forgotten he was stuck in this fucked situation. Forgotten he now was one of those he hated, one of those he had fled in times past. One of the blood masters. He was part of a blood-circle. He was the owner of three men, humans, all of whom were addicted to his blood, and to his feeding, to HIM, through no choice of his own. Through no desire of his own. He cursed hotly under his breath. And drew in a breath before he thought.

 

Sex. Sweat. Semen. Blood. A day's worth, more than? The scents crashed over him. Xander, Riley, Graham. Mouthwatering scents, so good, so right, he wanted them, to taste them. Bite them, feel their blood rush into his mouth, down his throat. He wanted to feed off of them. He wanted to fuck them.

 

"Ghod damn it!" He yelled, vaulting up out of bed. They all shrank back from him, his abrupt action. Xander let out a yelp. Two leaps took the vampire to the bathroom, Angel slammed the door shut, cranked on the knobs to the shower, was under the hot spray, scrubbing them, their smells, off of his skin. Using the scented soap, spicy, expensive. It covered the odors he had been overwhelmed by. He let out a sigh. Thank fucking ghod.

 

Christ, now what? He turned off the water, reached for a thick, soft towel. They were out there, in his room, waiting. He heard their heart beats. One racing fast. He knew who that was. Xander. One slower, in midrange. Riley. And one perfectly calm, about 50 very fit beats per minute, already down to baseline after the scare he'd only just given them. That one was the one he didn't understand. That one was Graham. He flung the towel up over the railing, spreading it to dry. Then he opened the door and went back into the musk filled room. This time he knew better than to breathe any of it in before he was prepared.

 

Xander had moved, he was behind Graham and Riley now. He always had good survival instincts, did Xander Harris. Angel had to admire the kid for that. Xander. His now. Unless he killed him. Them. That was the choice. Keep them, or kill them. Keeping them meant feeding off of them, taking them to his bed, living with them, day, after day, after day. Yes.

 

They gave him power. Control. And all they asked in payment was him. His blood, his body, his presence, his bed. His ownership of them. For him to feed off of them. If he denied them, they would die. Not an easy death, not now. They would die like vampires left out in the sun, withering, decaying, while still alive. Unlike vampires, it wouldn't be fast. Weeks of suffering if they didn't have his blood, if he refused to take theirs.

 

Today they had a name for it. DNA. Genetics. They were tied to his genetics. They were addicted to it. Needed it to survive. Needed his company, his touch, his scent, his breath exhaled into their lungs, his blood in their bellies, his teeth in their flesh, his sex in their bodies, his semen soaking their flesh.

 

He smelled it on them. He had fed from all of them. He had sex with the tall one, Riley. But all of them had the smell of his semen on their skin. They had all touched his ejaculate, wore it on their skins, he wondered if they had figured out why they had wanted to smear it, wear it, not wash it off. Probably not yet. They weren't scared enough.

 

He tilted his head up. Then moved to the closet, dressing in rapid motions. Boxers, socks, shirt, trousers, jacket, shoes. He left off the tie. And the overcoat. It was warm, people might stare if he was overdressed. He was good at blending in. Getting better all the time.

 

Now this had to happen. Now he had to separate fact from fiction, find out which of the tall tales were true and which were fables. Find out what he was capable of. What horrendous new powers fate had given him. None of which he wanted.

 

He headed for the door. Opened it. Stopped. Turned. Oddly reluctant to leave them, the three. He jerked his head towards the door, and the hall beyond. "Time to eat." He said and went out. They followed him, Graham the fastest, then Riley, then Xander, heart still too rapid. Xander had the instincts all right. He was afraid, he wasn't ready to trust anything. He was right.

 

'Touche, Xan. You have my number, alright. You knew it, all those years ago. That we were going to end up somewhere bad, you and me. Like this. Fate. Kismet. Destiny. Karma. You knew, and you tried to stay away. Tried to talk someone into killing me, tried to kill me yourself. Too late now.' Angel shook his head, ghosting down the stairs, not surprised that he barely heard the footfalls of two of the men who followed him, the soldiers, and Xander, well for most humans, he was very quiet. Loud only to a vampire's ear.

 

Wesley looked up from the coffee he was spooning into the coffee maker. He counted heads automatically and added several more heaping scoops. Poured the water into the reservoir. Flipped on the pot. Leaned back against the counter.

 

"Breakfast?" Riley asked, a pathetically hopeful tone in his voice. He was ravenously hungry, had been for hours sitting waiting for Angel to wake. Not wanting to chance a replay of the other night by leaving the room without permission. He throbbed. "Got any aspirin?"

 

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do." Wesley moved to the cabinet next to the sink. "Aspirin, Ibuprofen, Tylenol." He flicked a fingernail against a bottle." Whiskey, too. Pick your poison."

 

"Aspirin." Riley reached for the offered pills, and the glass of water. He gulped them down, finished the water thirstily. Filled another glass, full, with Graham standing right next to him, eyeing the water running into the glass like it was the purest gold. Riley gave the full glass to the shorter man, filled a second, gave it to Xander, who gulped at it, the kitchen was filled with the sounds of drinking, swallowing greedily.

 

Wesley stood to the side, watching, spellbound. Understanding lighting his eyes. Angel met his eyes, watching his reaction in turn. The former Watcher swallowed hard.

 

Angel opened the fridge. Took out a bag of blood, looked at it. Put it back. He wasn't hungry. Not even slightly. Damn it. He had fed plenty, too much, last night. He closed the door. His Thralls needed protein. Iron. Meat. Steaks. He doubted he could get them to drink the bags of blood.

 

"Breakfast." Angel said. "My treat." And headed for the door. His Thralls followed without hesitation.

 

"Angel!" Wesley almost yelled as the vampire reached the front door. "Angel, stop, it's DAYLIGHT. Are you suicidal?"

 

"Perhaps," the vampire said, stepping outside into the morning light. Angel smiled, flashing a hint of fang at the gaping man who had rushed out after them all, expecting to see the vampire go up in a puff of smoke and flame.

 

Nothing happened. Angel stood in full sunlight, gloriously warm on his face. Brilliantly bright.

 

"Or perhaps not." The vampire concluded, leading the way to his car, completely unaffected by the rays of the sun for the first time in over two hundred years. "Coming Wesley?"

 

Graham held open the door for the Watcher while he sprinted to catch up, jump into the car. Angel peeled rubber as they left the curb.


	10. Part 10

Angel watched his thralls eating the steaks and eggs, toast and jam, downing orange juice and sliced fruit as if they had not eaten in weeks. Wesley apparently was feeling a similar amazement as he left his sausage, toast, eggs and tomatoes almost untouched in preference to watching the ravenous men devour the vast repast in front of them.

 

Angel felt a grim satisfaction as the food disappeared. Riley, the one from whom he had drained the most of everything, ate like a man on a mission, head down, knife and fork flashing. It was good to see him swallow the calories, replenishing his body and his fluids. Angel felt a surge of proprietary pride that he had given up on suppressing half an hour ago. His eyes sparked golden as he turned his attention away from Riley to focus on Xander.

 

Xander, was eating as well, concentrating with a single-minded-ness that made Angel smile, a slight quirk of his lips, lost in the brooding expression he wore. But, Wesley knew him well enough to see it. The former Watcher shivered. Angel was not...Angel right now, at least not the Angel Wesley was familiar with. Angel didn't look at anyone with that look in his eyes. He wasn't Angelus either, thank ghod. But, he was more intense, more frightening, downright scary, as he sat here in this bright windowed cafe, in the middle of the morning, in full sun, watching his....thralls, Lorne had called them, his blood-circle, eating.

 

Angel's eyes shifted to Graham as Wesley gave up on eating and merely observed his four table companions. Graham, in sharp contrast to the others, looked up and into the vampire's gaze as he continued chewing. The cool, assessing grey eyes met Angel's without flinching, they shared a long look, baffling Wesley, who only just managed not to blurt out his ten thousand questions.

 

There was only one question that mattered right now. Angel was out, in the light, and not burning to a pile of crisp, fluffy ash. How? That was what Wesley wanted to know. What Giles would ask of him. Because Giles was first on his list of people to call when he got back to the Hyperion. Hands down. Then Lorne. Because Lorne hadn't said this would happen, be possible at all. While he waited, Wesley sat and watched in this new, alternate reality, that allowed a vampire to walk around in daylight with impunity.

 

^^^^^^^^^

 

Buffy true to her calling was all for slaying when Giles managed to get her sitting down and explained what he had learned from Wesley. The rumors that Wesley had passed on to his fellow researcher, indicated that it was likely Willow, Tara, Anya, Dawn, and Jenny had been kidnapped and were part of this strange and doomed-from-the-start experiment.

 

Xander, Riley and Graham definitely were. They were in LA, with Angel, and, while they seemed to be safe, they were also Angel's thralls now. They could not be rescued, they could not be freed, or kidnapped, or stolen, or liberated...or any of the other words Buffy used.

 

Giles shook his head. "No. Buffy. There is nothing we can do. No one knows enough about blood-circles and thralls in general to predict what will happen. Except, that if a thrall is separated from his or her master, the thrall will die. No one has ever been successful keeping a thrall alive without it's master."

 

"We've run into unknown situations before," Buffy began angrily, anger was her response to everything lately. "And we have always come out on top. Why not now? Riley is mine!" She ubsusted hotly.

 

"Because it *is* Riley and Xander and Graham. And I don't think you or I can take having them die simply because we refused to consider the few facts that are known about thralls." Giles kept his voice controlled. "They have to stay with him. For now. If we can find out more, discover a cure, and it looks like we have a chance to save them...."

 

Buffy sprang to her feet. "I know that if I kill Angel, they will be free." She insisted. "I know it. I also know that Riley and Xander and Graham aren't going to want to live as thralls to any vamp. Xander *hates* Angel. He tried to kill him more than once. Xander is not going to want to live if it means that Angel *owns* him!"

 

Giles also stood. "No. Buffy don't do this....." he tried to touch her, but she stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand. She backed up further, towards the door.

 

"I am going, with or without you. To LA. I have to do something. I have to try. I can't just let this go. I can't understand why Angel would agree to do this to them! I thought he was one of the good guys, now I can see just how wrong I was." Buffy ranted. "He has taken Riley from me. I know he was jealous, but he didn't have to do this. Why couldn't he stand to let me be happy for a while? Why did he have to take all of them? Why not just Xander and Graham? Why did he need Riley, too?"

 

"Buffy. Angel didn't start this. It is very clear that he is also a victim here. He has just done what he had to in order to survive and to keep the young men alive. They can't live without him. I am sure he wasn't any happier to find out what was happening than you or I." Giles tried to keep his voice calm, careful. Not lecturing.

 

"No. You are wrong, Giles. He had a choice, he could have called us for help. You forget, I know Angel. He could have resisted." She was stubbornly certain of her false facts. Giles sighed. Wrong, but sure she was right. He reached for his jacket.

 

"Let me lock up and then we'll head out." He said to his slayer. It was the work of only minutes to close the shop down and pocket the key. Then they were in his ancient Saab, and heading for LA. Not even a toothbrush packed. Giles knew Buffy was too impatient to allow reasonable and sensible planning or packing. He would have to buy what was needed when they arrived. If Angel didn't kill them first, before they even needed a toothbrush.

 

From the extensive reports of negative outcomes he'd read so far, Giles concluded newly joined masters and thralls weren't the most approachable group Giles could think of. He hoped they'd all survive the encounter. It would be a damn shame to have defeated hundreds of demons, vampires and other bad guys simply to be killed by someone they considered a friend and ally. At least that was how *he* felt about Angel. Buffy seemed to be nursing a huge grudge right now. A woman robbed of her lover. Not good for her perspective.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel led the group back into the Hyperion. Wesley shied off at once, heading for the phone, and Angel made no comment. It was perfectly clear that Wesley was going to have to get in touch with his sources and figure out what was going on. All well and good, because Angel wasn't talking, and Wesley would be occupied and out of his hair for a time. He didn't know much, himself. And what he might know he wasn't going to share. Not right now. It was only going to upset everybody when they learned more. So in the interest of peace, Angel was going to let ignorance reign. As long as possible.

 

Right now the burn was back. Not the sunlight and vampire flesh kind of burn. Instead, it was the master vampire and thralls needing to get naked and bitten, licked, fucked and sucked kind of burn. He sighed. This thrall thing was cutting into his business. He couldn't work when he couldn't spend more than a few hours out of bed. But he couldn't do anything about it all, not yet. He had to wait until the bond was set, firmed, and settled. Then maybe...

 

They went, without protest, when he herded them up the stairs. Angel reflected on how he should handle this. He'd taken as much blood as was safe from Riley. Weakening the young man was not what he was shooting for. He knew that the ex-soldier's metabolism and recovery was no longer human slow. But it wasn't wise to push the envelope, not until he figured out for sure where the safe boundaries were. He grinned at that oddly foolish thought. Safety had little to do with taking thralls.

 

Xander was fucking terrified of the thought of Angel and sex being in the same sentence, the same room, the same bed, the same state. The reality might kill him, simply from pure panic. It might be better to take Graham this time, and prove to Xander that Riley's survival was not a freak accident. Conversely, the longer the younger man had to think about the situation and dread it, the higher his fear might go. If his heart rate climbed any higher, he was going to give himself a heart attack.

 

"Angel." The voice calling up the stairs after him set his nerves on edge. This was not the time he needed to talk to Cordelia. She and he got on well normally, he appreciated her blunt honesty. But now wasn't the time. He was barely rational right now, what with the aching need singing through his veins. He was about to turn and show her his full gameface, when he heard Doyle. The half demon was pulling on the woman's arm.

 

"Princess. Not now. I thought we'd agreed..." Doyle was hissing at her, a note of real concern bordering on alarm in his voice. She was huffing back at him. Outrage ringing in her tone.

 

"He is taking them upstairs, to his *room*, Doyle. Again. It isn't even noon." She complained. Angel didn't bother to wait for Doyle's reply to that. He rushed the other men into the suite of rooms he had claimed as his own. The door made a satisfying thump as he slammed it behind them, and turned the deadbolts.

 

Then, despite his best intentions, Angel seized the body nearest his own. Xander screamed.


	11. Part 11

  
Author's notes: Summary: Buffy in LA, oh boy.  
  
A/N: This chapter is for Calia, who pointed out something I did not know. And thus gave me an idea.  


* * *

Xander screamed when Angel grabbed him. He couldn't help it. Every calm bone in his body, every resolution and promise he had made with himself to remain calm, morphed into pure panic.

 

His heart rate soared, his muscles clenched, he clawed at the vampire restraining him, shoved, and struck out, desperate to get away, to not be a part of *this*, whatever this was. What it was going to be. He wanted to hide, to crawl under the large bed, to curl up in a dark corner, protected by walls and the barrier of the mattress over his head. Hide until the threat was gone.

 

But, Angel didn't let him go. Held him. Angel smiled, a feral, hungry smile, and Xander lost the last bit of his tenuous control.

 

They hit the bed together, Xander on his back, Angel's arms like steel around him, squeezing, python tight, holding him, letting Xander tear at him, most blows sliding off without harm, some finding purchase, and rending the vampire's skin, but Angel smiled, snarled his delight, without loosening his hold. Wanting the fight, and the victory he could sense, the anticipation, sweet on his tongue.

 

A strong thigh worked it's way between Xander's legs, not stopped by his struggles. Moving up, forcing his legs wider apart, joined by the second of the vampire's thighs, and to Xander it didn't matter if he was still dressed. He screamed and shouted and begged wordlessly, the pure terror filling him to overflowing. He was being held down, he was being spread open, he was being forced. By a man. Again. Raped. Again. But he wasn't young. And he wasn't small any more. He wasn't weak. He wasn't helpless. He was going to fight this. He was going to kill. It wasn't going to happen again.

 

Angel wrapped himself around Xander. And Xander fought like a wild, desperate thing to get free. The struggle was exactly the wrong thing to do. A vampire is a predator. When the prey struggles, the predator is entranced, driven to greater and greater lengths to secure the prey, to win, to overcome, to feast.

 

Angel was excited to feel the writhing, squirming frantic creature in his arms. Adrenaline tore through his body, as he fought to subdue his prey. His gameface fell into place, his fangs dropped, and he sank them into Xander's neck, ripping deep.

 

Someone outside was shouting, thumping on the door.

 

Xander howled. Full throated, inhuman, mournful and enraged, terrified. Not a sound that could come from any true man's throat. The pounding on the door hesitated, then after a long pause, resumed, louder even that before, more hands and feet than before, more people trying to get in.

 

Riley stared in horror at Xander and Angel on the bed, Graham stared, drawing in huge breaths, unmoving for an instant, watching together, the mass of arms and legs. The talons and teeth...on *both* combatants. Xander Harris, whatever he was, was not merely human. Oh. Fuck.

 

Xander screamed again. He used every ounce of his terrified strength to fight. All the lycanthrope power of being a hyena, he was nearly holding his own against the older vampire. There was someone pounding on the door, urgently, with fists and feet from the sound of it. Xander heard it, distinctly, someone who would help? Or someone who wanted to share? Yelling. Demanding that the door be opened. Someone who would hurt him, too.

 

"No way." Graham thought. "Not adding more confusion to this mix. If they get through the door, well then we'll deal with it. If they get through the door, they may be dead..."

 

But for now...he turned and met Riley's dilated eyes. The taller man was frozen in place, Graham marveled at that. Riley was never the one who froze. He was the team leader, the man who motivated, encouraged and supported the rest of his team. Who gave the nudge to the new recruit. Not this time. Not when faced with this....Graham knew it was up to him to do something if they were all going to get through this.

 

Graham launched himself at the man and the vampire. "Riley!" He shouted over the din: Xander, the door, and the person yelling outside the door.... "Grab Xander!" He ordered his friend as he pushed his body up against Angel, trying to find a way not to be shredded, broken and still get through to the two combatants. How could he, he wondered, catch the vampire's attention?

 

He shouldn't have worried. Xander sliced into his arms, blood spurted, spraying over all of them on the bed. Onto Xander, who flinched, shying violently away, his chest heaving like a bellows, screams raw with panic. Onto Riley, who's eyes grew even larger as he grimly held on to Xander, clearly wanting to be any where but here. Blood spilling down Graham's arms, in a torrent, and onto Angel, who went blessedly still for all of one brief instant. Head lifting, nostrils flaring, eyes predator gold.

 

Then it was Graham who was the focus of the vampire's attention. Xander was free, crawling madly over Riley, knees landing in the other's gut, his chest, drawing out a grunt from the other man, bolting to the floor, shredding whatever he touched, the sheets, comforter, pillow, and Riley's pants leg, his shirt, making it under the bed. To sanctuary. Huddling there. Breathing harsh. Arms wound tightly around himself.

 

The noise inside the room was gone. The silence broken only by the sounds of sucking, feeding, and Xander's panting breaths from under the bed. The shouts from outside were thundering, and Riley grabbed his head. Too loud, too loud, not now.

 

"Leave us the fuck alone!" He bellowed. The pummeling stopped. He heard feet pounding up the stairs, more than one set. And a voice he did not want to hear, one he loved, but never, ever wanted to hear again, not when he was here, like this, caught, without recourse. Impossible to lie.

 

"Riley Finn, open the god damned door!" Buffy screeched. Riley dropped his head into his hands.

 

Buffy. No. No. No. Not here, not now, not like this. Not while he was sitting next to his vampire lover, watching his best friend Graham being fed on, with a boner in his own pants he couldn't explain. Not really a battle erectus, something far more uncomfortable to think about, of a far darker, more ancient origin. Something he didn't want anyone else, especially Buffy to know.

 

"Open. This. Door." Buffy said again, her voice flat, all business. And no, Riley couldn't. Wouldn't.

 

"Go away." He shouted back, curling in on himself, curling closer to Angel, to Graham, to the feeding, to the blood. To Angel, who had forced Graham's jeans down to his mid thighs, but not off, who was forcing himself, big, hard, throbbing, between Graham's thighs, rubbing there fucking him in a way, up against his perineum, beneath his balls, but not entering. Accepting just the friction for now. Graham not fighting, his eyes open, meeting Riley's, asking without asking that the other man not look away, not leave him alone with this. Not even symbolically.

 

Christ. Graham was a virgin. Riley wriggled closer. Finding Graham's hand, interlacing their finger's, not looking away, not wavering. Graham's lips parted, then, suddenly, and let free a sound, half moan, half sigh, tiny sound, and his eyelids fluttered. He needed more, Graham needed...Riley looked around wildly, his mind racing....Graham needed...Christ this was his first time!

 

"I love you." Riley whispered to his friend. "I love you." He repeated, because...it was Graham's first time, and he should be loved his first time, everytime, but especially his first time. Graham's eyes were still locked with his. Grey, swirling depths, handsome face, serene. In shock. Always there, always counted on...."I've got your back," Riley said. And reached out to touch Angel. To distract the vampire. To draw the fearsome attention to himself.

 

With a resounding crash the door caved in. And Buffy was standing in the room fists raised, Giles behind her, cross in hand. And Cordelia, impatiently shoving to the front of the group, pushing Doyle aside, Wesley peering myopically around the others, Fred back, in the hallway, Gunn towering next to her, axe in hand, her bodyguard.

 

Riley came up off the bed, snarling, putting himself between the bed and the interlopers. A flash startled him, and he turned his head a fraction to see...Xander, shoulder to shoulder with him, his face...not Xander's face, an animal-man's face, hyena man, his snarls joining Riley's. More believeable than Riley's. No fear left in Xander now. No terror. No doubt. Threat only. Directed at those who would attack and harm his master, his fellow thrall, his mates, disturb their coupling, and stop the feeding.

 

Angel raised his gore spattered face from Graham's neck, roaring his rage, lifting away from Graham, who rolled onto his side, shaky, struggling to rise, to drag his pants up over his erection. And the others the ones who shouldn't be in here, they stared at what they shouldn't be seeing. Riley surged forward, brought up by the arm of the vampire around his chest, around Xander's chest, as Angel leaned between them, his wet phallus not hidden, sticking out, tumescent, between the flies of his pants, putting no doubt to what he had been doing when interrupted. Buffy's eyes darted off to the side, Cordelia's did not.

 

"They are mine, Slayer." Angel growled, "Mine."

 

"Ghod, Buffy. Ghod. Get out. Please." Riley said, muscles clenching, flexing, fighting. Wanting to defend his mates, from....his former lover. His lover until last week, until he was....Angel's... lover now. Angel's minion, his boy. His pussy, his snack bar. "Just....go."


	12. Part 12

  
Author's notes: Summary: Crossing out crosses.  


* * *

It was a stand off of sorts. The team of Angel Investigations (sans Angel of course), the Slayer and her Watcher, arrayed against the vampire and his brand new thralls.

 

Buffy scowled, fists tight, not willing to look at Angel, not directly, she kept her eyes on Riley, then on Xander, and when his hyena face creeped her out, back to Riley, which wasn't any better because looking at him *hurt* just that little bit more than looking at Angel did. Two swords twisting in her guts. Her breathing had a hitch, then she got it under control. Angel was standing there. His dark eyes waiting. Sneering at her.

 

Angel, with his *thing* hanging out. The part of him that had once been hers. Hers to touch, hers to feel inside of her body. Hers and no one else's. But, he had left her. Without a backwards glance. And now he was showing everyone his thing. As if it was no big deal. Though it was. A big deal. A very big deal. She shivered and refocused, as Giles came up behind her. Laid a hand on her back, just finger tips, the other hand full of his cross.

 

Angel had lost his soul over her, but he left her once he got it back. Broke her heart. Told her it was the only way, that he couldn't be with her. Or he'd be Angelus again, so he said. But Willow, she had cemented his soul, locked it to him forever, and he still had not come back to her. Said he couldn't. Not ever.

 

But now, he could be with *her* lover, Riley, and Xander, her friend, and Graham.... He could be with them. Do those things with *them*, but not her. They had him now. They touched him, they had him touch them. They had sex with him. Angel lay down with them, he had been on top of Graham just a second ago. Graham could have Angel, but Buffy had to stay back. No Angel for her.

 

And she....she had lost her new lover to her ex-lover. He stole Riley from her. Vindictive, hateful prick. Her sinuses stung with the prequel to crying. She blinked her eyes rapidly, tears weren't good when you were fighting, or might be fighting soon. Tears made it hard to see. She felt Giles, always sensitive to her moods move up, closer, almost too close, it might slow her down, if he was in the way like this. His fingers were still there, steadying her.

 

Angel just leaned on Riley and Xander, facing them all, with his golden gaze slitted, angry, hot. His chin coated with blood, the soldier-boy's blood. He turned his head and ran his cheek over Xander's shoulder, leaving a trail of Graham's blood behind.

 

Xander never flinched. Buffy flinched for him. Xander growled, his eyes not leaving the massed forces in front of them, but he turned his head, sniffed, extended a long, very not-Xander tongue and licked at the thickening blood. First the blood on his shoulder, then the blood on Angel's face. His eyes were hardly the kind brown, uncertain eyes of Xander, they were the yellow eyes of the hyena. His face, the snarling snout of a canid.

 

Wesley shuddered. He was well aware of that little interlude, the hyena spirit that had taken over Xander while he was still at Sunnydale High. But, he had not suspected that the curse was still in effect. No one had told him that, Giles, the SOB, hadn't mentioned it at all. Then Wes looked at Giles, saw the other man's absolute shock, the tremble of the hand holding his substantial wooden cross, the hard clenched jaw, and realized, Giles hadn't known, either. OK, fine, so Giles wasn't keeping important secrets to himself. Or not this particular secret.

 

Graham finally manged to fasten his pants flipping around on the bed. It didn't hide his state of arousal, but at least he was covered. He went forward cautiously, up behind Angel. His arms, bare and muscular, brown went around the taller man's hips. He carefully tucked Angel in, and fastened the vampire's pants. Angel let him, moving enough so that Graham had to handle him more than should have been necessary, if he'd just held still. Doyle swallowed loudly back in the pack.

 

Graham moved to stand behind Riley, his face neutral. He nodded at Giles, at Buffy, who couldn't meet his eyes, who's gaze skittered over the tanned, grey eyed face, like skipping stones over the surface of a lake.

 

Cordy cleared her throat.

 

Buffy frowned harder.

 

Giles opened his mouth, would have said something, only Riley beat him to it.

 

"We told you to leave." Riley said, and Buffy's eyes flashed up to his face. "You really should go, Buff. I am sorry." He made no move to go to her, and his voice was not welcoming, not soft, not caring. Not her lover. He spoke to her like there was nothing left between them, like they had not been in bed together a week or so ago. Like they had not made love. She blinked harder. No. She wasn't going to cry. She was going to yell. Yelling was better.

 

"Why?" She asked *him*, voice full of fury. "Why couldn't you tell me, before you did this? Warn me? You could have called, told me to come and get them. I would have come, we would have," she said, meaning her and Giles. Of course she knew who's fault it really was.

 

"If you are talking to me, I didn't know before it happened." Angel threw back at her, curling his right arm in hard, and pulling Riley in to his body, until they were pressed together all along their sides. "Someone, not me, dumped them, all primed and ready to go, on my doorstep. And you are thinking it is *my* fault. Not this time, little girl. I know different. The Initiative did this to me. I am a victim. You are supposed to be on my side, this time, Slayer." His almost wry smirk said he understood the irony.

 

"You could have called me..." Buffy said, her voice full of anguish.

 

"And you would ride to the rescue? It was too late. Ask your Watcher. They were mine already. Or they were dead meat, if I didn't take them. Dead. Nothing to be done. I tried to kill them, I..." for the first time the vampire's voice wavered, uncertain, and he stopped speaking. He had tried not to accept them, he had tried to let them die, to help them die. But it was impossible. They were his. Marked, his blood scent on them. In them. He had to feed from them. Like they had to breathe.

 

"Angel!" It was Cordelia, stepping forward, moving close, foolishly thinking she was safe with her little silver cross winking at her throat. Angel just shook his head. None of them knew. Not the researchers, the Watchers, or his own team of Angel Investigations. They didn't know what some stupid bitch-doctor had done to him, to his thralls, to Los Angeles. Ghod, it would be fun to tell them. But, even better to let them find it out for themselves, bit by bit.

 

"Yes, Cordelia?" Angel answered her. His smile was barely there, a ghost.

 

"What is going on?" She asked in the particularly complaining tone she had when she wasn't up to speed on what was going down. The expression on Angel's face wasn't right.

 

"You mean now? Right now? Or when the lot of you busted down my door to my *private* rooms and interrupted me fucking MY thralls?" Angel asked her sweetly, recovering his composure along with his anger. Buffy went pale. Cordelia went dark red. Fuck if there wasn't almost steam coming out of her ears.

 

Riley made a sound much like a stifled groan, stifled because Angel still had him pressed in tight, face to the vampire's neck. A good place to be, a place he would be happy to be, if the others weren't watching him with all that stunned horror. If he wasn't so embarrassed. He smelled Angel's scent. His cool skin was just under his mouth. A great place to be, except when your very recently ex-girlfriend was standing a few yards away, staring, trying to pretend there weren't tears filling her blue eyes. Then it was so, so bad.

 

A week ago, he wouldn't have wanted to be here, not anywhere near it. A week ago he would have wanted to be across the room, next to Buffy. He would have wanted to be smelling her musk, his nose buried in her hair, his hands on her waist, his lips exploring hers.

 

Angel growled. And Riley forgot what he was thinking about as Angel pulled away from him, pushing him roughly backwards until he fell on the bed, Graham flopping down next to him, the mattress bouncing. Xander jumped up, crouching. Angel standing alone unbuttoning the shirt he halfway wore, then he was shirtless, chest smoothly muscled, dressed only in his pants. Stalking forward. Giles stepped up, beside Buffy, her knight errant. Cordy took a giant step back, trodding on Wesley's toes with her sharp heels. His yelp was muffled.

 

Angel kept his moves slow, one step, two, another, then four. Buffy was right in front of him, as was Giles, his ancient, many times blessed, cross in his hand, the hand that was lifting higher and higher with each step the vampire took. The last step. Angel sighed. And stepped into the cross, so that it was flush to his skin, against his chest, hard, digging in. Giles' hand holding the cross, rock solid. His faith, undeterred.

 

Angel stood there, saying nothing, letting them all see. Letting Cordy step out to the side, peer around the others, and see. Allowing Wesley to gulp and swallow, inch closer, then stop. Letting Gunn surge forward, axe in hand, not believing, letting Doyle look at his unblemished chest, the cross that wasn't smoking, and the half-demon raised his eyes.

 

"My Ghod." He said. "It is true."

 

They all heard it, Fred's feet, tap, tap, tap taptap, taptaptaptaptap....fast, faster down the stairs as she ran.


	13. Chapter 13

  
Author's notes: What is a slayer to do....?  


* * *

"Buffy!" Riley yelled at her, fighting to get upright and out from under Xander who fell back onto him. "Buffy, don't. Don't do this. I'm begging you."

 

She had that light in her eyes, the one that meant she wasn't thinking, or listening, wasn't doing anything but reacting. She was going to do something very bad. He saw her focus narrow down, to just the vampire in front of her. He pushed Xander up off of himself. "No! Move, Xander!"

 

"My Ghod." Rupert Giles murmured, his stunned face lifted from the cross he had shoved against the vampire's chest, looking into Angel's human face. "It isn't doing anything. You aren't being harmed. It isn't even uncomfortable. Buffy....get back." The slayer showed no sign of having heard him. He knotted his hand in her shirt, tugged against her resistance.

 

Riley managed to get to the edge of the bed and fell off of it onto the floor, rolling a few feet, then Graham had a handful of the back of his waistband lifting him up off the floor. "No. Don't do it." He yelled at his former girl-friend. "Graham, stop her, she is going to...."

 

"What's the matter, Ri?" Buffy glared at the man she had loved. She sneered. "Afraid your *lover* is going to be beat up? Afraid he isn't going to be able to fuck you?" The word was not easy to her lips, Buffy didn't swear well.

 

Angel did the worst possible thing then, he laughed. In her face. Then made things worse yet. His accent, usually hidden, smoothed away by his years in America, was in full evidence as he leaned down towards her. "I can guarantee, dear girl, that won't be a problem. All that lovely, creamy skin is a hell of a motivator. We can both attest to what a fine piece of ass is Mr. Finn."

 

"Fine, so crosses don't work." Buffy's face twisted, drawing up into a mask of infuriated determination, undiluted hatred. "Say hello to Mr. Pointy. See if that works for you."

 

She reached back, seized the stake from her back pocket, and drove it up into Angel's solar plexus, ramming it into his chest, into his heart, deep, lodging it against his spine. One quick, smooth, perfect arc of deadly movement. The force so powerful it lifted the vampire off of the ground for a split second. He let out a grunt. Angel looked down as his feet hit the floor on the way down.

 

He let out an exclamation of shock, surprised he was seeing it, normally a vampire never saw the stake that killed him, he dropped to his knees, his face a mask of surprise.

 

He looked at it, the thick splinter of wood sticking out of him. It was death. True death. Crumbling into nothing time. "I didn't think you'd have the balls to do it." He rasped. He raised his hand, tapped the shaft, only a few inches remaining outside of it's sheath in his body. Didn't try to remove it. His eyes were dark, velvet brown, soft with wonder, his lips parted.

 

Xander screamed, a wounded sound, an animal howl. His hands were clawing at his chest. Tearing. He sprang off the bed, at them all. Giles let out a shout and backed up fast, holding his cross out in front of himself like a sword. He fell over Gunn and Wesley, his fingers losing their grip on Buffy's shirt. The three men landed in a heap.

 

Buffy dropped down next to Angel, on her knees, voice high pitched with panic. "Oh Angel. Angel. No. No. I didn't mean it, no, you can't die. I'm sorry, I take it all back, please don't die." Her hands shook over his chest, trembled around the stake, fluttering uselessly. He looked at it. Looked at the hole it made. Looked at her small, delicate white fingers and hands. Funny, wasn't it, that all the slayers had been such small women

 

"Pull it out." He said. "Pull it out." She scrambled back from him on all fours, realizing...he wasn't ash, dust, cinders on the floor. He was still solid, speaking. With a wooden stake in his heart. He wasn't dead.

 

"No. NO." She said, yelled. "No!"

 

"You missed." Giles said, as Riley arrived at Angel's side. The older watcher was trembling as he reached out and held his slayer. "I can't believe it. Buffy, you missed."

 

"She did not miss, Rupert." Wesley said, pushing his crooked glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he untangled his limbs.

 

Gunn was already back to his feet, axe braced in both hands. He pushed at Wesley with his foot. "Let's listen to the man this time, Wes. Time to get out." Still, Gunn wasn't all that surprised when no one listened to him. Cordelia surged past him. Going in the wrong direction.

 

Doyle was one step slower than Cordelia, who was bent down over the kneeling vampire. Riley elbowed the woman roughly away, into Doyle's ready and waiting arms. The demon whirled her around, marching her in the direction of the hall. "Princess, you are going to be the death of us all. Saints preserve us.... Just stay back, will you?!"

 

Angel leaned forward, dropping down to hands and knees. Graham and Riley seized the vampire's arms, keeping him from falling onto the stake and driving it in further. "Fuck!" Angel ground out. "Oh fuck, that hurts."

 

Xander, Riley and Graham were around him. Riley holding onto his body, straightening him up, while Graham tried to see the stake more clearly. Xander was growling.

 

"Angel." Riley said, his voice was shaking, he held Angel in tight to his body. Angel let out a groan.

 

"Master?" Asked Graham. And Riley even in the midst of the disaster, stared at him.

 

"Get. Out." Xander barked at the others, at the slayer who had tried to kill his mate. His lips peeled back from his abnormally long teeth. He wrapped his fingers around the stake and pulled, dragging it with a dull sucking sound from the vampire's chest. He flung it at Buffy, at Giles. They cringed back from the blood flecked missile. It hit the floor, clattering into the hall. Xander drew back and crouched near the vampire, licking the blood from his hand.

 

Angel let out a whooshing gasp of air. It whistled through the hole in his chest.

 

Buffy whispered something. Giles leaned down, to hear it, whispered again, not much louder.

 

"I didn't miss." She said brokenly. She had gotten him, perfectly square in the heart. And he wasn't dead.

 

 

"Whoa, Nelly." Lorne put up both his hands as the door was flung wide before he even had a chance to knock. Fred stood there, hair rumpled, stringy around her white face, eyes huge as saucers. She was letting out little pants of breath. Lorne's crimson-red eyes narrowed. OK. Bad timing he was guessing. Not a good place to be, was his second thought. Why? Refer to point one.....timing.

 

Fred grabbed Lorne's arm and started to drag him back towards the stairs, before he could back off the stoop and into the relative safety of the street. She was babbling for him to come with her. To....run? No, he didn't think that running willy-nilly anywhere inside the hotel was a good idea. Just a hunch.

 

He put up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, hang on there, sweetcheeks. What is the big hurry? 'Cause I am definitely picking up that you are in a hurry. And that makes me think I should find out why, before we go any further." His boots made a scree-ing sound on the tile of the entry way as she dragged him into the entryway. Despite himself, Lorne took an instant to be impressed with that feat of strength from tiny Fred.

 

Fred kept tugging. "Come, on. Hurry!"

 

"You see that is precisely my point." Lorne said. "There are times when it is very bad to rush. When it is far better to stop and think things through. And thinking things through requires information. Which I need you to give to me, precious. What has you all worked up?"

 

"Angel." Fred said.

 

"A good start, but I am going to need more." Lorne encouraged. A loud crash sounded from the third floor of the hotel. Fred jumped, and so did the green demon. He peered upwards, squinting. He rotated his hand in a speed it up motion. "Maybe you could talk a little faster?"

 

"Cordy! Ghod damn it!" Doyle yelled. "Get moving." Lorne wasn't able to see anything. Fred grabbed him and started pulling again.

 

"Doyle?" Lorne called out, raising his voice until it boomed out. All those years of singing, he knew how to make his voice carry, fill a room.

 

"Lorne?" Doyle's head popped up over the railing way, way up there. "Hurry the hell up here!"

 

"You see, that is all that anyone is telling me. Hurry up. Hurry up. NO one is bothering to tell me why. And that is making me really suspicious. Like maybe if I do know, I am not going to want to 'hurry the hell up' anywhere." The Host grumbled as he took the stairs three at a time.

 

"For pity's sake, Lorne. Save your breath and get up here," Wesley's head popped up next to Doyle's. The Englishman frowned. "Why aren't you taking the elevator?" He wondered aloud.

 

"Of for the love...." Lorne wheezed as he started up the second flight.

 

"I'm just saying..." Wesley held his hands up at shoulder height. A crash sounded behind him again. Wesley ducked. Doyle ducked. And this time there was something Lorne could see.

 

A slim, blond woman, flying through the air, hair streaming, falling towards him in slow motion. Her clothes fluttering, a graceful descent. Almost poetic. Falling. He had time to thrust out his arms. "Oh shit." Before her body struck him in the gut and they tumbled down together, all the way down the stair case. Thump, ta dump. Stopping at the bottom.

 

Lorne lay there face up. The strange blond woman on top of him. Fred rushed over, her hand to her mouth, making a distressed moaning sound. His eyelids fluttered. That was a very short skirt she was wearing, he thought absently. He'd have to tell her. Then everything went black.


	14. Chapter 14

  
Author's notes: Xander is bad. Blood squick, more than usual.  


* * *

Cordelia screamed. Wesley startled, crouching down. "What?" He looked up, following Cordelia's horrified gaze. A small, female body flew past, reflexively he reached up, clutching after it, but the girl was gone before he could do more than feel his fingertips brush along her clothes.

 

"Buffy!" Giles shouted after the form of the slayer as it flashed past him and sailed out into the open air over the polished wood railing. He shot Xander a pained, disbelieving look and then spun and ran down the stairs. Wesley scrambled after the other watcher. Their footsteps thundering. Xander stood for an instant, fisting and relaxing his hands then he turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Angel laying on the floor, Riley and Graham beside him.

 

Xander rushed back to the vampire's side, Riley had lifted him, so Angel's head rested on his lap. The vampire coughed, sending up a gout of blood. Graham tore off what remained of his T-shirt and was holding pressure on the gaping chest wound. The blood was seeping through the material, slowly but inevitably. Xander pushed his way next to Angel and bent down, sliding his arms under the larger body, knocking Graham back onto his butt.

 

Angel groaned as Xander lifted him, his arm flopping out to the side, head lolling, his thrall was cradling him with unnatural strength, carrying him to the bed, where he lay him in the center of the mattress.

 

Carefully Xander tugged the saturated shirt out of the wound, the sound it made, wet, sucking, a liquid rush of blood bubbling after. Riley shivered. Xander tossed the shirt away, off to the side. It fell with a meaty smack. He ran his fingers along the edge of the wound, round and round lightly, then ever firmer as he looked up and met the dark eyes of the vampire.

 

Angel lifted his head a fraction, then let if fall back onto the bed with a thump as the movement tugged at the torn flesh of his chest. By rights he should be dead, not complaining about the unghodly amount of pain he was in. Every shift, movement, tore at him like dulled razors flaying him open. He bit down on a scream. Xander cuddled him close wiping the along the torn skin. He pressed his mouth to the vampire's forehead, pulled back, looked down at him.

 

Xander watched him, Angel met the brown-yellow gaze. Then Xander looked down into the hole in Angel's chest. He licked his lips, nervously, thoughtfully. Angel saw his nostrils flare as the other man caught the scent.

 

Slowly Xander lifted his bloody fingers, staring at them like he didn't recognize they belonged to him. Then he dipped them into the middle of the welling blood, going far into the recesses of Angel's body, touching with featherlightness the organs, muscles and fractured rib bones, his expression one of wonder. He observed the crimson thickness running tracks down his fingers, over his wrist. Angel arched up with a moan of distress.

 

Riley made a strangled sound in his throat. "Xan? What the hell....?" Graham took a step towards the bed. Riley blinked and then followed. Xander growled at them, hunched across the body of their master vampire. Graham stopped and Riley had no choice but to stop behind him. They stood stock still while the were-hyena/man snarled at them. Threatening.

 

Abruptly, Xander bent down and placed his mouth next to the tear. He inhaled the scent of blood, and tissue, of sundered flesh. His tongue stole out to lap at the wound. And that was all it took, his eyes drifted closed as he sank into the scent and taste, he never noticed the moment when he lost it, the metallic, salty, alluring flavor washing over his taste buds.....

 

He licked the edge, cleaned it with his wet, soft tongue, gentle as a breeze, the passage of his tongue actually seeming to dull the pain, Angel realized. Each precise, soft lick easing the agony a bit. Xander dipped his nose into the wound itself , his long nimble tongue working with the delicacy of a a jeweler's precise hand. He licked.

 

Riley let out a rush of breath. His stomach roiled in protest, then...churned hungrily as he watched Xander continue to lap at the vampire. The hunger was such a shock he stumbled. He wanted that blood for himself, craved it, needed it. He envied Xander for having it.

 

There were no teeth showing, no sign that Xander was going to tear further into the damaged tissue. Riley edged nearer the bed, moving slowly, exchanging a look with Graham who tried to assess just what his aim was. Graham was also intent on the wound, his grey eyes focused, not missing one lick or swallow that Xander made. Riley forced down his spiraling appetite.

 

Riley wanted to get near the two on the bed in case this went very bad. He would have to be close to stop Xander. He wanted to be close. The other man's strength was greater than his own, but Angel was his master, and Riley would protect him, even at the cost of his own life and safety. Even if he didn't much like the vampire...

 

Ghod, what had happened here? Why was Angel still alive? Why wasn't he dead and a heap of ashes sprayed across the floor? Riley mentally tried to clear the thought from his head. Because it upset him. There. He'd admitted it. It really upset him to think of Angel, murdering, bloodsucking, vampire Angel, dead and gone. It twisted his guts into a knot that tightened down to a generalized cramp in his belly. Angel dead. No.

 

He inched closer, Graham right behind him. Xander didn't lift his head, but he let out a low, ominous growl. Riley and Graham lowered themselves to the floor.

 

"This is getting old," Riley hissed to Graham as they went to their bellies, and the tanned man shrugged, giving him a nod of agreement. Xander seemed at least partially appeased by their submissive postures.

 

"You know," Riley continued. "Xander isn't quite normal, either."

 

"Yeah, I'd noticed that." Graham said in return, looking at him like he was just a little nuts. "What do you think we should do about it?"

 

"As long as he isn't planning on actually eating Angel..." Riley responded. "I'd say sit and watch for a problem. As if this, Riley thought to himself, wasn't a problem. Xander crouched over Angel, eating up the spilling blood, tongue delving in and out. Sure, this was completely, absolutely not a problem.

 

"Great." Graham said. "We sit and wait. Until Xander is done."

 

"Because we really don't have a choice. Xander isn't human, and I don't have a gun. Do you?" Riley whispered.

 

"No, no gun." Graham agreed. "Wouldn't want to shoot him, anyway."

 

"Not unless there isn't an alternative." Riley replied, daring to roll onto one side, off of his belly, Xander's eyes tracked the motion, but he made no objection. The two ex-soldiers sat in silence for a time.

 

"You think this face thing of his is a permanent thing?" Graham ventured a few minutes later. The "grooming" session was not showing signs of stopping.

 

"Hope not. Be hard waking up next to him with a face like that." Riley said. He shuddered a the thought. Those long whiskers, the snout, the fucking *teeth* for Christ's sake. Talk about someone you wouldn't want to chance surprising before he was fully awake. "We are going to be doing that you know, Grey. Waking up together for a long time. The four of us."

 

"Yeah. Any thoughts on how long?" The smaller man asked. "You think he's gonna mind if I turn over?"

 

"He might. You are closer to them." Riley opined. He frowned over the rest of his friend's question. "A long time, Grey. A really, really long time. I have a feeling about it."

 

"Me, too. Better than dying." Graham said as he rolled over. Xander lifted his head, and the other man froze. "Looks like you and me, we are the lowest men on the totem pole here. After the vamp, and then him." Graham inclined his chin at Xander as the were-hyena returned to it's task.

 

"Like it always is." Riley muttered, darkly. First the military, then the Initiative, now this.

 

"I can't see the wound any longer." Graham said a minute later.

 

"What?" Riley asked. "What do you mean?"

 

"The wound. I think it is gone." Graham said. Xander lifted his bloodied muzzle, fixing them with his yellow, predatory stare. Graham reduced his voice to a whisper. "Think we are the second course?"

 

"Hope not." Riley said, without much conviction.


	15. Chapter 15

  
Author's notes: An explanation. Lorne tries to get a handle on things. Innocent fun.  


* * *

"Oh. OOoooohhh." Lorne put both hands up to hold his aching skull together. He had a pounding headache. He dared to open his eyes a slit, and saw the perky little flying girl was up and standing, looking much fitter than he felt. Obviously *she* was OK. But, he was laying on the floor, his brains spilled out all across the tiles...or at least it felt like they were.

 

Wesley was kneeling next to him, talking rapidly. That was what had woken Lorne up from his blissfully unconscious state.

 

"Lorne. Lorne. Look at me. Look at the light. How do you feel? Lorne? Can you tell me the date? Where are we? Uh, who is the president? Lorne?" The researcher was insistent. Wesley was waving a small penlight wildly around. Lorne squeezed his eyes shut. No way. If he tried to follow the gyrations of that light, he was going to throw up. He might vomit anyway. Sounded like a good idea.

 

"Wesley!" Someone else. Not familiar. Lorne risked opening his eyes again. A slightly older man, bending down. "Do you want an ambulance?" The man asked calmly. Lorne snorted in disbelief.

 

Oh, yeah. Like an ambulance ride was going to do him any good. Even LA hospitals had no clue how to treat an injured demon. Aside from locking them up and throwing away the key. Or calling in a certain interested law firm, and getting in on a good payday. Wolfram and Hart did not skimp on the rewards they paid for demons. The Host shuddered.

 

Doyle piped up next. "Uh, princess....I wouldn't."

 

That made Lorne's eyes fly open. It wasn't wise to keep your eyes closed around Cordy. Then the pungent smell of ammonia filled Lorne's nostrils. He snapped upright, coughing and choking.

 

"Lorne..." Doyle began, apologetically, before he was cut off by Cordelia.

 

"There," she announced with satisfaction. "I told you he would be just fine." Her eyes sharpened, the pupils dilating, and she leaned in closer, looking at him in a manner that was decidedly....odd. Lorne flinched back.

 

Lorne glared at her, then decided to include all of them in the glare. It was then he realized his shirt...his shirt(!) was unbuttoned and open, he was exposed! He grabbed at the edges, holding them closed. Cordelia's eyes followed his hands, widened. Raked over his bared flesh, the rippled muscle. Looked right at his triple navel. Became intrigued. Lorne never buttoned up faster in his life. To the throat.

 

"Now that you have tried to kill me, do you suppose that someone might tell me what the hell is going on?" The green demon snapped, moving to put Wesley and the other man between himself and Cordelia. Doyle assisted in that endeavor, herding the human female away from him. Lorne breathed a sigh of relief, then raised his fingers to rub cautiously at his temples.

 

"Are you alright?" Fred asked quietly. Lorne slitted his eyes. Softening his tone.

 

"Yes, Fredi-kins, I'll live." He told her with a patience he didn't feel at the moment. He looked around, his eyes finding Gunn on the outskirts of the group, axe in hand. Ah. Hope.

 

"Just what was so urgent that I had to run down here and get the stuffing knocked out of me?" Lorne asked the big man.

 

"Angel." Gunn responded, then frowned. "Not sure exactly why it was so urgent. But he took his thralls, and Wesley out to breakfast."

 

Lorne stared. Waited. Put an inquiring look on his face when Gunn didn't say anything else. "And that is bad? Why?" Sounded downright polite.

 

"During the day. In the convertible. With the top down." Wesley added to the conversation. "Then he sat in the cafe, next to the window, in the full sun."

 

"I am guessing he is not extra crispy." Lorne hazarded. That would be the expected result of a vampire basking in the sun. And hardly reason to call him if Angel was toast. Unless they wanted him to help with the wake. But he doubted that.

 

"No." Cordelia agreed. "He came back to the Hotel. And dragged his...*boys*....upstairs. No hello. Just up the stairs and behind a closed door. Again." She sounded outraged, her generous lips pouting.

 

"Huh." Lorne said.

 

"In the middle of the day." Cordelia added that telling bit of news, brows lowering.

 

"Hmmm." The Host offered. He looked around expectantly. Someone had to be able to do better than that. His eyes lit on the older man next to Wes, who was regarding him with no little interest. Lorne held out his hand. "Hello. I am Lorne. Some call me the Host. And you are...?"

 

"Giles. Rupert Giles." The bespectacled man said. English accent. Educated, probably upper-class, Lorne cataloged the man.

 

"Welcome to our fair city." Lorne said. "I don't suppose you...." He waved a hand vaguely.

 

"I...we came in on the tail end, I am afraid. That is Buffy over there." He indicated the small, blonde, missile-woman. "The slayer. We came down from Sunnydale. To find out what had happened to Riley, Graham and Xander. When we got here, they..." He looked around the quiet room, everyone was watching and listening to him. "Uhm, they were grouped around the door to Angel's suite attempting to get inside. Buffy," The blonde girl frowned fiercely, and Lorne took a step back, "...dashed up the stairs in order to assist. I accompanied her."

 

"You are her watcher?" Lorne guessed, receiving a nod in the affirmative. "I believe that was right about when I came in." Lorne said.

 

"No." Came Fred's soft disagreement. "You got here after they broke the door down and Giles tried to stop Angel with his cross. And it didn't work." She lifted her gaze to the much taller demon's. She looked so unhappy, Lorne reached out and pulled her into a hug.

 

Cordy's eyes narrowed.

 

"That sounds...unusual." Lorne agreed. Patting her thin back. He freed one hand and waved it in a circle to include everyone in the room. "They all in the know?" He directed the question at Doyle before he said any more.

 

"What? Oh, yes. You can talk in front of them." The smaller demon said.

 

"Yes, Giles is a colleague of long standing." Wesley jumped in.

 

"Fine. It is quite expected that a vampire with a bloodcircle be able to withstand sunlight and holy items. Especially if he or she was strong enough to begin with. Not 100%, but not a big surprise, either." Lorne told them.

 

"How about a stake to the heart?" The girl, Buffy, asked hostilely. "I didn't miss." She said savagely to the older man.

 

"Well, well. Now that takes some doing." Lorne said, pointing at her with one hand, holding Fred tucked into his chest with the other. She seemed happy enough to be there. "But why stake Angel?"

 

"He stole my boyfriend." She snapped at him, baring her unimpressive teeth, aggressively. He looked at her. The little squirt was Pissed Off.

 

"You staked Angel because he stole your boyfriend?" Lorne asked carefully. It hardly seemed a killing offense.

 

"And he rubbed my face in it." She said hotly. "In front of everyone."

 

"Angel and Buffy...used to be a couple." Wesley clarified. Lorne shot him a helpless look. "Their break up was...complicated." No, really? Lorne never would have guessed.

 

"Better than daytime TV." He muttered. Fred giggled. He hugged her tighter for an instant, then went back to the normal hug. He had a feeling he was here more as a group counselor than anything else. He sighed. So much easier if he could get them down to the club, and up on stage.

 

"Anyone up for a drive? First round on the house." He asked hopefully. He could use a drink.

 

"We should check on them." Wesley said into the pause. "Angel wasn't looking well."

 

"Could you...." Doyle began. Lorne looked less than enthusiastic. Barging in on a bloodcircle was not the best choice to make. It was *dangerous*. Vampires with new thralls were unpredictable. Not that most were all that civilized in the first place. Even Angel was probably not up for company at the moment.

 

"I'll go." Cordelia snapped, when Lorne hesitated.

 

"No!" They all shouted in unison.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne paused outside the door. Doorway, he corrected himself. The door lay on it's side, in several jagged pieces.

 

"Hello?" He called out reluctantly. There was silence. Then...

 

"What is it with you people?" Another voice he didn't recognize. And growling...Not Angel growling. Was there another vampire up here? One none of the AI team thought he needed to know about? Christ on a crutch! He swallowed hard, backing away. He turned, and came face to face with Cordelia, who was standing hands on hips. He almost jumped out of his skin, his hearts leaping into his throat. Both of them.

 

"Well?" She snapped. The growling grew louder at the sound of her voice. "Are they?"

 

"Are they what?" Lorne asked automatically, distracted. This had not been a good idea, coming up stairs. In fact it was the worst idea of the year. So far.

 

"Are they having sex?" She asked, impatiently, crossing her arms.

 

A scuffle sounded behind him, and Lorne whirled towards it, without answering her absurd question. A young man was grappling with a....thing. A were-something. And losing. His frantic grey eyes met Lorne's red ones. The were-thing was trying to get to Lorne. All bristling claws and teeth.

 

"Are you all idiots?" The young man asked, straining to hold the agitated animal. "RUN!"

 

Lorne thought for one fraction of a second about leaving Doyle's troublesome princess to her fate, before swearing, grabbing her, tucking her under one arm, and running.

 

Hyena. He thought as he sailed down the three flights, this time on his feet. That was a hyena.


	16. Chapter 16

  
Author's notes: Questions....   


* * *

"Xander." Angel called out to the struggling were-hyena and the ex-soldier trying to keep from being hurt, while preventing the hyena-man from chasing off down the stairs after human prey. Damn his chest still hurt, ached, like someone had cored it out with a dull spoon.

 

Xander lifted his animal face, and sniffed in the vampire's direction. Riley could see the consciousness seep back into the other thrall like water filling a cup. And, from one breath to the next, the hyena was gone, faded away, and Xander was there. Puzzled.

 

He lifted a hand to his face to rub at it, and encountered the dried blood, setting free a shower of the brown flakes. He stared at it in bemusement, then suddenly seemed to understand what it was.

 

"Yuck." Xander said. "So, so not on my top ten list. Wake from a bad dream as Hyena-boy covered in vampire blood. I'll just go wash this off." He headed to the bathroom, Graham trailing behind him warily.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Dr. Walsh methodically read every detail of the autopsy and crime scene reports.

 

She found the crisp, detached wording of the Medical Examiner's report soothing. It was nice to read facts presented in an unemotional manner. Laid out and awaiting her evaluation. To not have to deal with the anxieties and agitations of interpretation. Just the facts, ma'am.

 

She smiled to herself. "There," she thought, "so much for those who believe I have no sense of humor." She leafed through the stack of photographs. The photos clinched it. Two of her thralls had been executed, most probably by the vampire they had been sent to ensnare. Well, it had been a calculated risk to utilize the mentally unstable woman. Her instability had added one too many factors to the mix.

 

On the up side, there were no reports of death in the other areas where the thralls had been disseminated. So. There was a possibility that the remaining subjects were being prevented, somehow, from contacting her, and were still alive. The conditioning might not have been sufficient. Or, they might be waiting for an opportunity to get in touch. She would have been much more comfortable with the delay if they had had the tracking devices implanted. The next group would. She shook her head. Why had she agreed to the paranoid arguments of her scientists? She pulled her thoughts back to the more important issue of the moment, going back to the perusal of the autopsies.

 

Severe lacerations of the throat and upper chest. Disruption of both the right and left carotids, with rapid exsanguination. But, not much blood at the scene itself. That cried out to Maggie Walsh. While a detective would see it as a sign the victim was killed in another location, then dumped to conceal the perpetrator, she knew it meant the woman had been killed and drained by a vampire. Pity. She had spent a significant amount of time making and then training the thralls. Now she would have to secure additional subjects.

 

Fortunately, she had a vampire, in mind, and better yet, under watch. She planned on taking no unnecessary chances this time. And he had the perfect control in place, he was chipped. He could not kill the thralls she sent to him. The chip prevented that.

 

Hostile 17 was going to go through the same painstaking training the thralls did, in controlled laboratory conditions. To eliminate the wasteful kind of mistake that had resulted in the death of the young scientific officer and Jenny Callender in New Jersey. Mistakes were costly. They took time and money from her project.

 

She finished reading the reports, having gleaned all of the pertinent information from them, and set them aside to be filed. She settled her chair in front of her computer screen, clicking on the new files section.

 

A picture of a slender, reddish haired young man filled the monitor. She smirked with no surprise at the strange appellation at the top of the screen. Oz. What an odd name. Not really unexpected with the way young people were changing their names right and left nowadays. His name was immaterial. He was familiar with vampires, and would not lose it when faced with one. He was also quick thinking, resourceful. Likely to survive. He would be perfect for Hostile 17. She continued reading.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Wesley stopped speaking, a pink flush traveling up into his cheeks. How exactly do you address a friend when you have seen their rather impressive privates hanging out?

 

The others in the room picked up on his silence, and conversation dwindled as they turned and saw the vampire, fully dressed this time, enter the office. The three thralls were no more than a step behind him as he came to a halt close to the door.

 

Lorne sat up straighter. So. Angel was going to *talk*. That didn't happen often. He smiled. Then settled back to wait, Fred snugged up to his side. Nervous. Watching. This should be interesting. Lorne itched to get the whole group back to Caritas, to his microphone, but... Silence fell.

 

Cordelia stared, arms automatically crossing over her chest. Obviously not happy.

 

Wesley half opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, twisting a thread that stuck up from the chair's upholstery.

 

Gunn lounged, relaxed, against the wall, his axe propped next to his leg, in easy reach. No point in picking it up, though, since he didn't think it would do a hell of a lot of good against Angel anymore. Call it a hunch.

 

Fred sat next to Lorne, leaning slightly forward, her large eyes wide and fixed on Angel. Anxious.

 

Doyle was very still, looking in the direction of the vampire and his thralls, but not meeting any eyes. But seeing everything else. How they stood together, the thralls a bit behind Angel.

 

The watcher from Sunnydale, Giles, was sitting on the arm of one of the easy chairs, next to Buffy, who was stonily frowning at the floor, her jaw clenched, feet primly together, hands fisted on her knees. Giles looked ready to burst with excitement, and supremely unhappy at the same time. He rested a hand on his slayer's stiff shoulder.

 

Angel looked from face to face. Crossed his own arms over his chest. Glowered, at his broody best.

 

"There are going to be some changes." He said, as Riley, Xander and Graham stopped and stood around him, close but not quite touching. "No one is going to break down any more doors. You may not like it. But, what I chose to do with my thralls is not your business." He turned his head in Cordelia's direction at her sharp intake of breath. He fixed her with his dark, forbidding gaze, let the gold lights sparkle through. She bit her lip, only just managing to contain her comments, for now.

 

"There will be some rules. Not a lot. Not negotiable. You don't like it, then leave the Hotel. No one is going to break into my rooms. No one is going to try to "rescue" my thralls." The quotation marks were clearly implied around the word rescue. He gazed from one to another until he had met all their eyes. "Those are the important ones. If there needs to be more, they'll be added when the need arises."

 

There was a restless shifting amongst the people around him, with glances exchanged, but no talk, so Angel continued.

 

"I have broken up the partnership of Angel Investigations before. And we all know that was a mistake. I am laying out the rules now, to prevent misunderstandings. Let's get it all out into the open. As much as possible. I spent most of my life trying to avoid this old-court shit. I don't know all there is to know about the bloodcircle, that is what this is," he clarified, "but what I do, I will tell you. Questions?"

 

Giles, Wesley and Cordelia all started speaking at once. Gunn shifted impatiently. Angel held up his hand. "One at a time." He said.

 

"Why do you have to sleep with them?" Cordelia won the race for the first question. Xander let out a small noise, turning his head away from the others. Angel shifted his weight towards the other man. But they still didn't touch.

 

"It is part of the bonding process. Sex and feeding. It is required. Can't turn it off. Can't stop it. Can't say no. Saying no means they die." He looked around again. "Next question?"

 

"Wait! What do you mean....." Cordelia persisted, taking a step closer, a frown creasing her brow. Doyle rose to his feet going to her side. Angel sighed, his face grim.

 

"I mean, Cordy, that I can't *not* have sex with them. That is all I mean. There is no choice involved here. Not for me, not for them." He waited for the next part, knowing it was coming, she was fairly bursting with it.

 

"So you are happy to just let it go on, to do this to them just for the power it gives you...?" She began, her generous mouth compressed.

 

"Being happy about it or not, has nothing to do with this." Angel said. "Are you happy about having to eat, and drink and breathe? Or do you just do it to survive?"

 

"We've run up against things like this before. Where there wasn't supposed to be a choice, and we've changed that. Found a way around it." She insisted stubbornly. "I don't understand why you are giving up so easily."

 

"Princess," Doyle said, his voice low, weary. She shook off his hand.

 

"Stop it! I want to hear his excuse!" She seethed, hotly. "He never gives up, he always fights. Now all of a sudden he just gives in? No. Something else is going on. He wants this. That is why he isn't fighting it."

 

"Do you have a problem with homosexuality?" Angel asked her, curiously. He'd never noticed that before. But, it would explain a lot. "Is that what this is about?"

 

"Yes. In this case, I think I do." She said defiantly. "You are forcing my ex-boyfriend..." The vampire shook his head, interrupting her.

 

"I can't fix that for you, Cordelia. Talking about it is not going to get us anywhere. Let's move on. Next question." He said. She wasn't done yet.

 

"Damn it, Angel.. Xander doesn't want this. You are forcing him. It is...it's rape...." She took another step in his direction, and his posture became even less relaxed. Doyle grabbed onto her arm. Christ Ghod. She was accusing Angel of rape!

 

Xander made a noise, panic, pain. Riley moved up next to him, offering his presence as comfort. Xander's eyes flew up to his, then away. Graham came to stand in front of the dark haired man, shielding him from the prying gazes.

 

"NO, Cordelia. Do not go there. Next. Question." Angel growled, his eyes glowing red-gold. Doyle shook her arm, turned her to face him.

 

"Later," he said, urgently. "We'll talk later. Give someone else a chance, please, princess. Now is not the time for this."

 

"I have one," Giles said when it became clear Cordelia was not going to insist. "Why does the cross not affect you? It is blessed."

 

"The bloodcircle pretty much eliminates the weaknesses associated with being a vampire. The sun isn't harmful. Holy items are not effective. Nor," He gestured to his chest, "stakes to the heart. It doesn't mean I can't be killed, it just means it isn't as easy any more."

 

"So you can be killed?" Buffy spoke up, her eyes blazing. At last taking interest in the proceedings.

 

"Yes. I can still be killed." The vampire answered.

 

"How?" The young woman snapped out.

 

"I don't think I am going to tell you." Angel answered her. It didn't take much to figure out giving her that information would not add to his immediate chances of survival. "I am not stupid, Buffy. All I have to go on are rumors from the past, anyway. Maybe that is all they are, and I can't be killed."

 

"I'll find out." She snarled fiercely, right back at him. "And when I do, I'm coming back to find you." She stood, "Let's get out of here." She said to her watcher, who was torn between finding out more, and taking care of his slayer. She didn't miss his hesitation.

 

"Fine, stay here. Ask your questions. But, I wouldn't go so far as to believe anything he tells you. He is a *fucking*," again the awkward use of profanity, she really wasn't very good at it, "vampire. I am going to go do something about the other vampire problem in LA." And she stalked out of the office.

 

"Wait, Buffy." Cordelia went after the other woman. "I think I need to get out, too."

 

Lorne broke the silence left by the two women exiting. "Well, didn't that go well?" He said, darkly.

 

Fred squirmed next to him. "I am the only girl left." She said. "Here."


	17. Chapter 17

  
Author's notes: Spike has a problem.   


* * *

"What the bleeding hell?"

 

Spike felt like his head was the size of the entire state of Montana. And hollow as a melon. It throbbed and stung. Pounded. To make matters worse, he was *fucking* ravenous, too. His stomach rumbled, deprived of blood and food both. He muttered unhappily. He had to open his eyes. No way out of it. He pried one swollen lid open narrowing it to a mere slit when confronted with the bright white lights. And swore.

 

"Ghod damn it!" He howled. He'd been in this particular place before. And had hoped never to return. The bleeding Initiative. The blokes who had put the chip in his head. He still owed them for that. He looked around. No improvement in the decor since his last visit. Still white, still padded. No chairs, no bed. Still locked in. He kicked out at the thick Plexiglas shield. It made a satisfying thump, but disappointingly, didn't break. Fuck-all.

 

He looked down. White overalls. Stretchy, unflattering, showed off his bits and parts, nothing to be ashamed of there, he had a good set, but clingy white? He shuddered. No taste, these people. Just another big mark against them. As if they needed any more. And barefoot, too. He wiggled his pale toes. Maybe he should have painted them. Black, like his fingernails. A bloke never knew when he'd be showing off his assets, after all. He snorted. Yeah, like hell.

 

"Hostile 17." The cold voice was just as he remembered it, he let his head drop back down to the padded floor. He had a very good memory, a thing people tended to forget. They saw him as a mindless, ignorant vampire, one of the lower classes, a predator for sure, but not a very smart one. Hostile 17.

 

"Oh, just great." He muttered. "Now me day is complete. Tell me what you want, and let me go. Or I'll just escape again, like last time. Not too bleeding fond of these accommodations. And give me back my boots. Toes not ready for company to see." He pointed them in the direction of the camera.

 

"Well, *Spike*. I hope you'll feel more like staying around this time. I have a roommate for you." The woman's voice told him from the tinny speaker. He listened to that, but didn't miss the hissing release of the gas filling his cell. This too, was familiar, he thought as he passed out. Who knew what he'd find when he woke.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel looked around at the remaining people in the room.

 

Gunn was still up against the wall, relaxed, his face not angry, not friendly, just patient, observant. Angel figured Gunn could have the axe up and swinging in less than a second. Just as cool and collected as ever.

 

Wesley on the other hand was rocking back and forth, small movements, showing his upset, his nerves. Now that Buffy had stormed out, taking Cordelia with her, Giles, the Sunnydale watcher, moved to sit next to Wes. He put a hand on the other man's arm, and Wesley jumped nearly all the way out of the chair. He was shaking, as Giles tried to calm him, leaning down to speak softly in the other Englishman's ear.

 

Doyle stood, head down. Thinking, Angel guessed. Reliving the last few minutes, wondering undoubtedly, if he could have prevented it, intervened, kept Cordy, his princess, in the room, in the group.

 

Fred still huddled into the smallest space she could take up, feet up on the cushions, arms around her thin legs, with Lorne's long arm around her.

 

And Lorne, frowning. An expression that was not often on his face, Angel hadn't seen it in a while. Their eyes met. Lorne cocked his head to the side. More interested than angry. Lorne wasn't just the jovial barkeep some thought him. Wasn't just the teller of tales, and reader of souls through song. More than Angel's friend. Lorne was a watcher of sorts himself. For the demon community as a whole. Lorne watched him now. Making no secret of it.

 

Angel took advantage of the lull in the conversation, to head over to the one free couch. He sat, and the men who had followed him also sat. After a moment's consideration, Riley on the couch next to him. Graham on the floor at his feet, facing the others ready to head them off. Xander stood uncertainly for a minute, then Angel held out his hand, and the young man dropped down, putting his hand in the vampire's, his head coming to rest on Angel's knee. Angel stroked him, the dark hair, felt the nervous twitching of Xander.

 

Angel spread his legs, not titillatingly, just welcoming Xander between them, closer to him, as comfort rather than sex. Xander glanced around the room, saw all eyes fixed on him, put his head down, moved in at once, nosing his face against the strong inner thigh, taking in the musky scent, settling, quiet. Angel's hand cupped the back of the dark haired man's neck, massaged, finger's rubbing small circles.

 

His thralls settled, Angel gave his attention back to the room at large. Lorne was still watching him, red eyes alert, measuring, looking at Xander in particular.

 

"Next question?" Angel said softly, his fingers winding in the sweaty curls at the base of Xander's neck.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike felt like shit the next time he swam up to consciousness. He wold not recommend marketing this knock out drug, it's side effects were bad. Real bad. He barely managed not to groan, turning over onto his side before his empty stomach clenched and he began dry heaving.

 

"Hey. You OK, man?" The soft voice startled the vampire. Great, now he was too sick to even notice when he wasn't alone in the cramped enclosure. He lifted his head, eyes bleary and streaming with the force of gagging up his guts.

 

When he caught sight of who was in the cell with him he let his eyes close again. Red's old boyfriend. The one who went all furry three days a month. Then the smell hit him and Spike sat up.

 

"Whoa! What?" The young man scrambled backwards, coming up hard against the wall. Keeping an eye on Spike.

 

Spike covered his mouth and nose with his hands. Forbidding himself to draw another breath. For the first time in years his body was fighting him to draw in another unneeded lungful. Fighting to taste more of the drug that was coming off of the other's skin.

 

Spike knew exactly what it was. And why he didn't want any part of it. It was thrall scent, clear indication of a bloodmark. His blood mark. Any one else's and it would make him want to back away, nauseate him, not make him want to crawl over and stick his tongue all the way down the skinny git's throat. Followed immediately after, by sinking his fangs into the same throat and draining all the blood from his body.

 

He made the mistake of looking at the youth too long. His eyes met the eyes of his cell mate, and the kid's eyes, Oz was his name, widened. He gulped, raised his own nose into the air, and sniffed. Damn it. It was a piss poor time to be a werewolf, Spike thought sourly, bracing himself just in time to catch the leaping wolf-man.

 

He was betting they were on camera, he snorted. Of course they were. He just hoped wolf-boy had hearing as acute as some of the other werewolves Spike had known in the past. He plastered his mouth right up next to the man's ear and sub-vocalized.

 

"I bet they don't know your secret yet. Don't let them find out. Anything else goes. What ever we need to survive. Got it, sweeting?" He held the wolf immobile through an instinctive jerk. Then he felt the minuscule nod of agreement.

 

"You know what is happening here?" Spike hissed. Another head motion. No. Perfect. He backed off for a minute. Meeting the dark, dilated eyes.

 

Oz stared into the blue eyes of the vampire. Hot eyes, set off by the platinum blond hair, a stunning contrast, then his gaze shifted, down to the mouth, lovely, siren's mouth, he wanted to lick. Oh, no. Oz's brain did a back flip. Not going there, he told himself. Not, going.... he tilted his head way back, letting the cool nose of the vampire, of Spike, push into the side of his neck, locating his bounding pulse with the ease of the bloodhound that he was.

 

Spike bore him to the padded floor, on his back, hiding most of what was going on, the whispering that, suddenly, Oz was capable of hearing again.

 

"I need to bite you. Got no choice, mate. What we need to do to survive. Remember? If I wait, I won't be able to stop. They've been getting me ready for this. Starving me." Spike was whispering urgently. Oz realized a nod wasn't going to serve this time. Sometimes you just had to talk.

 

"Do it. I understand. Instincts and drives." Oz murmured, not moving his lips. He did. Three days a month Oz spent chained up in his basement, in a cage, because of drives not at all unlike the ones Spike had now.

 

"Yeah. Right. Can't believe I forgot that. Sorry about this." And Spike sank his fangs into the welcoming throat, relishing the spurt of hot blood that filled his mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

  
Author's notes: Spike **still** has a problem. Bryt gets credit for the beta on this story, too.  


* * *

Spike woke up on a lab table. A hundred or so years of survival took over, and he held perfectly still, not giving in to the urge to breathe or move noticeably, using his ears and nose and vampire senses to figure out what was going on in the room around him.

 

He didn't feel any restraints around his limbs. Good. One point in his favor then. He heard footfalls, quiet, cushioned by crepe rubber soles, light but shuffling. More than one set, but only one was very near, the shuffling set. Probably older, or weaker somehow, underweight. Not in the best of shape. He only just managed not to smile in satisfaction. No challenge there. Just a quick snack if he could work it.

 

He smelled gun oil further out into the room, from several directions. Well cared for leather, one of his favorite smells. Adrenaline, not bad. A light cologne. He put it all together and came up with one or two scientists. One person, wearing cologne, so a male. And several armed men. Soldiers. The tasty treat of adrenaline was probably from them. Young and strong. Nutritious if he could manage one of them close by.

 

He had one big goal, now that he had figured out what he could about his current environment. Not escape. Because he was blood-bonded to Oz, his thrall. So escaping without the man would be very stupid. Why escape and then die from it? Or worse yet have to come sniveling and crawling back? He couldn't smell Oz in the room. That meant Spike had to wait before getting the freaking hell out of this place.

 

So, if he couldn't escape, then he had to feed. The idiots that passed for scientists here, didn't seem to realize Oz couldn't keep feeding Spike without the help of either another donor, or bagged blood. Not even fast recovering werewolves provided an endless supply of blood. Oz was good, but even he couldn't do the impossible. Unless the scientists planned on watching Spike slowly starve to death, or go mad and try to kill his thrall. Hell, maybe that was their plan. To record it all for the sake of posterity. But, it wasn't Spike's plan. He, and his thrall, were going to get out of this joint, alive.

 

He was a survivor. He was going to survive this. With the acquisition of a thrall to boot. He was a practical vampire. He would never have chosen to tie himself down with a thrall, even if he could have found the strength to make one. But, now that he had one...he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. There were benefits to be had, and Spike wasn't going to foolishly turn those down.

 

He waited until the feet were right next to his bed. Then he struck. The stupid gits hadn't tied him down. He was up and on the wide eyed man in seconds. Old. Spike tasted the age in the man's blood, the wrinkled flesh of the man's neck under his mouth.

 

Not the vintage he would have chosen if he had a choice. But hey, beggars can't be choosers, he drank as fast as he could. Two gulps, three, five.... and the man was torn out of his grasp, flesh flaying from under his mouth, blood spraying, Oops, got a carotid on that one, Spike thought, smiling nastily in his head.

 

A soldier dragged the old man to safety the other raised a cannister, finger tightening to unleash the knock out spray, but Spike was faster. Having a thrall was a very good thing. He liked being stronger, quicker. He snarled baring his teeth. Didn't have to worry about that sodding chip any more, either. Hee hee.

 

He had the can on the floor and the soldier, the cutest damn Asian man he'd ever seen, across his lap, pinned down and fang's in his throat before anyone else could get near. He heard shouting, ignoring it, as he sucked hard, drinking as much as he could, as fast as he was able.

 

Two donors was more than he'd hoped to have a chance at. He wasn't going to waste it. The man's struggles weakened, but Spike didn't care about that, he had blood, spiked with adrenaline and spiced with pure sweet fear, too good. He drank greedily. Then the man was ripped out of his arms, and someone did managed to spray him with that CRAP. Spike fell back onto the bed, unconscious. But, very well fed.

 

Maggie Walsh strode into the room. Her furious expression making everyone, even the armed men step out of her way, hastily. The only one who had ever failed to kowtow to her was the Finn boy, and his friend Graham Miller, who just never reacted to a thing she said. Too bad they had been disloyal. And were history, now. A little too much initiative of his own, Riley Finn, too clean and too much of a boyscout. Ah, well.

 

"Who let this happen?" She glared around the room, only the officer meeting her stony gaze. His hands around the barrel of the shot gun were white knuckled. She sneered internally, pussy, she thought.

 

"He caught us by surprise, ma'am. He should have been knocked out for at least another hour." The soldier swallowed, pitiful, she thought. But, at least they hadn't shot the troublesome vampire. Then, she'd have to start all over again. Another vampire and another thrall. This way....the situation remained salvageable.

 

"Did we at least get the blood samples?" She fought the urge to hit him in the face. She rolled her eyes as she walked past him. Incompetents. One of them would most certainly pay dearly for this. She knew just who to start with.

 

"Yes. The blood was taken." The officer told her, voice tight, making it clear he had seen the eye roll and resented it. But, didn't have the balls to say anything to her. Gelding, she added to her list of names for the man.

 

After all, most men could be explained away using nothing more than a set of genitals, instinctive mating urges and territorial imperatives. They wanted to own things, or fuck them. End of story. They weren't useful for much else, including thinking, until they got old enough to lose the drive to fuck. Like the scientist who had been injured. He had been the perfect age.

 

"How is Dr. Peterson?" She snapped coming to a halt near the vampire's examination table. He was out cold. Head half off the table's edge, one arm trailing limply. A pretty enough picture if one went for the lean type. She, however had no time for a relationship, or more than simple sex. When she had an itch, she scratched it. Then forgot about it. Her work was far more important.

 

"He has extensive tearing of his throat, and moderate blood loss. He'll need surgery to repair the damage." The officer reported, crisply.

 

"Well. He is too old for what we need anyway. The soldier. How is he?" Maggie Walsh shook her head at the delay the surgery would cause. Peterson was dedicated to her cause. His help had been invaluable. The sooner he was back at work the better. The soldier, he was young and strong. Perfect. Now that the vampire had bitten him...well waste not, want not.

 

"Private Nicholas Yee. Blood loss, less tearing of his throat, but he is pretty weak. They are taking him to the infirmary for a transfusion." The officer told her.

 

"No. Not until I get there. Radio them." Dr. Walsh stalked over to the refrigerated cabinet on the wall as the soldier obeyed, punching in her access code, the only one that would open this particular storage area.

 

"Private Yee just volunteered for special duty." She said, as she removed a vial of shimmering blood. Her smile was not pretty. The officer opened his mouth.

 

She fixed her flat gaze on the man she had been speaking to. "Unless you would like to take his place?" He shook his head, his mouth snapping shut over the protest he had been about to voice. He had his own skin to worry about, Yee would have to take care of himself.

 

"No, ma'am." He looked positively ill at the thought of becoming the vampire's regular snack bar. They'd all had to go through the experience of being fed from when first assigned to the Initiative. But, none of them liked it. Most had recurring nightmares about it.

 

"Good. Now get Hostile 17 back to his cell mate, and clean up this mess." She avoided the pooled blood coagulating on the floor. Her shoes would stay as white and spotless as the entire facility.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

The new door was one cannibalized from another room further along the hall. The deadbolts had been replaced and now they were locked, all three.

 

Angel did better this time, he didn't seize Xander. It was Graham his hands grabbed. Riley and Graham had maneuvered themselves so Xander was the furthest from the vampire once they had been herded into the suite. Angel couldn't take any credit for it.

 

He found himself with an armful of hot, muscular, very pretty man. Grey eyes stared up at him, the prime body leaned into him, willing, not fighting or resisting him as he lifted the slighter one up and took him further into the bedroom. Stripped him. Dragged him towards the bathroom

 

The shower was hot, and felt good. As the heat soaked into his cool skin, Angel reflected on the way the conversation downstairs had gone, while Graham washed him. The important person had been Lorne. Lorne who would report back to the other demons in the region. Get the word out, of what Angel was.

 

Lorne was interested, had listened, and made a few comments. The tall, green demon would support him. And would point the vamps, who would begin showing up soon in LA, to Angel's door. When that happened, the AI headquarters would undergo a painful reorganization.

 

Vampires with thralls always attracted vampires without them. It was a hierarchy. Angel was at the top of this pile. He smirked. That hadn't happened to him for a long time. He had avoided others of his kind, deliberately. That was impossible to do now. They would sniff him out in droves, all wanting to bow to him, or fight him. He had one choice. To rule. Or to die.

 

Graham was quiet as he soaped the large body in front of him. The vampire was deep in thought. Probably going over the meeting they'd just left. Six hours of questions and answers. His head had started to spin after the first hour. But he'd listened and tried to remember as much as he could. Maybe later he'd have enough information to make sense of what he heard.

 

The growl caught him by surprise, shocking him out of his rumminations. Angel grabbed him, bending down, burying his nose in against Graham's neck. The shorter man suppressed his automatic strike, and bent his head back. He didn't like being alone for this, he preferred having one of the other thralls within arm's reach in case he needed help distracting Angel. But fighting would only escalate things. He gave in to the fangs.

 

He reached over and turned off the shower. Riley would hear that, and count the minutes it took for the vampire and his friend to re-appear. Too long, and hopefully Riley would come to investigate the delay. Graham let out a squeak as slick fingers slid over the opening to his body. Any time, Ri, he thought lifting one leg and opening himself to the vampire's explorations.

 

As if on cue the shower door opened and Riley, as well as Xander, were there. Riley's bloodied wrist offered to the vampire, who responded with immediate interest. Between the three of them they lured Angel back to the bed, Xander producing a large tube of lubricant. Graham stared at him with a question in his eyes. Xander mouthed a name silently. Lorne. Graham blessed the green demon, equally silently.

 

The fingers that found their way into his body were nice and slippery. Graham smiled at Xander, who was preparing him, looking more than a little uncomfortable about it, but the important thing was, he was doing it, while Riley let himself be fed off of. Xander looked everywhere but at Graham's face, or down between his legs. Then Riley called out to Xander, and Xander's fingers left Graham's body, as the two thralls traded places.

 

Angel fastened happily onto Xander and Riley applied lube. "Don't know how to do this." The ex-soldier said, quietly. "Any tips?"

 

"Lots of lube, use two fingers. Xander got me opened with one already." Graham responded, also in a murmur. Riley nodded, moving in. Despite Graham's advice, he used one finger to test Graham first, then gently inserted a second. Hot, Graham was very hot inside, and like silk. Riley discovered it wasn't unpleasasnt, having his fingers inside the other man, not like he'd imagined it.

 

Riley's fingers felt longer than Xander's, bigger. Graham felt full, but not painfully so. His eyes met Riley's, who was looking down at him from between his wide-spread legs. The blue eyes were somber, but not embarrassed. Riley smiled at him, a little grimly. Very serious.

 

"Three now." Graham said after a while. Riley added more lube. Grey and blue eyes met and held, locked as Riley pressed in. Graham sighed. Definitely bigger. Harder to take. But Riley had taken this and more. Graham drew in a relaxing breath. Let it out, and his resistance melted away. Riley was in as deep with his fingers as he could go. Graham panted to keep from tightening in reflex. Like Lamaze, he smiled wryly at the thought. Then Angel appeared, pushing Riley aside.

 

Graham let his head drop back on the bedspread, baring his neck a second time. This was it. He was going to get fucked in just a few seconds. Angel lifted his legs, and Graham thanked the ghods he was so limber, as he was folded practically in half. Angel was going to take him face to face.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Maggie Walsh drew up the pearly sheen-ed, crimson liquid into the large syringe. She moved to the hanging bag of blood, and injected the gene-altered blood into the bag. Then nodded to the medic to start the transfusion. Nicholas Yee was about to become Hostile 17's second thrall. Spike had adapted easily to the first one. There was no reason to think he wouldn't do just as well with a second.

 

Talking the young man into it had been easy. She just steamed rolled over him, and signaled the doctor behind him, out of his sight, to administer a sedative. Groggy, he'd not put up any protest at all. She grinned ferally. Perfect. She'd give him an extra unit of blood, and by tomorrow he'd be ready to join 17 and his current thrall in the cell. Another pretty boy for her chipped, pet vampire to play with.

 

Starting out the bonding in the laboratory was proving much more sensible than releasing the altered thralls on the street to find their vampires. By the time she released these three in Sunnydale, she would have their loyalty firmly set. She was shooting for a release as soon as next week. Right back on schedule. When people and circumstance stayed out of her way, she was efficient and damned competent. This time there would be no problems.


	19. Chapter 19

  
Author's notes: The site of problems shift back to LA.  


* * *

It hurt.

 

Graham gritted his teeth and fought to stay as still as possible. His hands fisted in the coverlet under him, most of his weight rested on the back of his shoulders and upper back. He wondered how this had worked out for Riley, how the other man managed to become aroused, and to orgasm while being fucked up the ass?

 

Riley had seemed to enjoy it, the act, after the first few minutes. He had moved with the vampire's motion, meeting the thrusts with his own, crying out, shivering with unfeigned pleasure. It had been arousing to see, be near. Graham was sure of it, it had been real, not faked. Why not him? He ground his teeth together, letting out an involuntary gasp of discomfort. He hated this.

 

His breath hissed out as Angel thrust in deeper. He was unable to hold back a thin cry of distress. It burned inside of him, that probably wasn't good. Oh fuck, he didn't like this at all.

 

Angel had him in a strong grip, hands splayed over his lower back, elevating him, thumbs squeezing down, lifting his hips high, even as he tilted them. Positioning him to take the long, thick, member inside. Hot brown eyes burned with flecks of gold down into Graham's pained grey gaze. His eyes watered. He arched away from the thrust, despite his best intention to hold still.

 

It did not feel good.

 

Riley reached out and took Graham's searching hand, seeing the grimace of pain. Their fingers meshed tightly, hurting, as the other man tried to find distraction of some kind. Riley watched, wondering what was going wrong. Why Graham seemed to be so uncomfortable. If he could do anything about it. Riley looked up, meeting Xander's wild and wary eyes. No help there. Riley turned his attention back to the two men coupling on the bed. A tremor tore through the tanned form.

 

Graham was not aroused, his slight erection from the beginning had been lost long ago. His genitals lay soft and small on his belly. Maybe that was the place to start. Riley moved closer, lubed his hand and cautiously reached between the two bodies, to wrap his hand around Graham's penis. He closed his grip around the softness and....

 

Angel reared up, pulling out of the body beneath his, and struck out, hitting Riley square in the chest with his forearm, sending him flying into the wall behind the headboard. Riley hit with a smack and fell back to the bed, stunned, bouncing, trying to get his breath back after having it knocked out of him. Xander let out a little scream and cringed away to the foot of the bed, crouching there.

 

At least he had remained on the bed this time, Riley thought, it was a victory of sorts.

 

Angel whipped around eying the dark haired man, then back to Riley, snarled at them both. Then when they both stayed still, he turned back to Graham, who was laying curled up on his side, shaking.

 

Riley saw a trickle of red coming from his friend's body. Graham was bleeding! He drew in a sharp breath, getting a piercing look from the vampire in response. He lowered himself, achingly, to the mattress, hands at his sides, cursing the whole situation. He had to help Graham! Angel was going to go right back and try to fuck him...

 

Angel lifted his head, scenting the air, looking, and finding the blood trail. He went to his belly on the bed. Graham jumped when he felt the very unwelcome hands on his hips, but he didn't move out of the way. He lay stiff and waiting for more pain, not able to figure a way out of it. He was shaking. They all had to take some of this. Xander wasn't ready. It wasn't fair for Riley to be the only one. Graham swore to himself he would do his part. But, he didn't want to.

 

Angel moved closer, spreading Graham open, looking, nostrils flaring. He touched the blood, scented it. His fingers slipped in it, back to the tight hole. He ran his fingers over the pucker, stroking, more tenderly than he had been fucking the thrall. His finger's went in, with some resistance, and a hiss of pain. Angel shifted closer, spooning up behind the fit, brown body, upside down, so his knees were at Graham's shoulders, and vice versa.

 

Angel looked around, his eyes finding the tube, and he reached for it with one hand. Riley moved as the vampire fumbled with the slippery tube, and carefully took it, squirting a generous amount onto Angel's hand, ready to jump out of the way if Angel reacted negatively. Angel grunted, but made no move to hit him again, so Riley relaxed a fraction.

 

Then Angel applied the slick stuff to Graham. And two fingers slipped inside the man. With the knowledge he had acquired over centuries, Angel found what he was seeking, the bundle of nerves in the wall of Graham's rectum, and gently pressed it, mapping it's edges and contour, explored it. Graham let out a moan, not of pain, but of disbelief. What was this? It didn't hurt. It felt like..like sparks flying though his hips, and thighs, lodging deep in his belly, shivering there. Oh, shit. That was.....

 

He relaxed his taut thighs and shifted slightly, presenting himself more openly. Waiting. There, the touch again, rubbing...something. Sending bolts of excitement through him. He sighed. Held his breath, sighed again. Ghod.

 

"Oooooh." A whispery sigh escaped him. Graham felt the hand come up to rest tight against his perineum, fingers as deep as possible in him. Angel fucked him carefully with those long, wide, strong fingers. Graham surrendered to his instinct to move, his hips undulating, offering. Better, so, so much better. He was growing hard. His cock filling and lifting.

 

A wet swipe across the bottom of his scrotum caught him entirely by surprise. Angel licked him again, then took his whole sack into a cool, moist mouth. Graham let out another cry, trembling, anticipating each long lick the vampire gave him, across his balls, and up his shaft, all the way to the tip. Then he was swallowed, all the way, to the root. Graham's whole body went stiff.

 

"Ghod!" Graham keened aloud, Riley lifted his head, relief flooding through him. Graham was not being hurt any longer. He had wiggled, until he lay mostly on his back, Angel crouching over him, hand between his legs, moving slowly in and out, fingertips pressing, just right, just...there. Graham threw his head back, into a straining arch, and Angel stopped moving, waiting for the urgency to pass.

 

When it had, when Graham was not in danger of coming too soon, Angel gently pulled his fingers out, and slicked himself. He cupped the smaller man's buttocks and lifted, bringing their bodies into alignment, and very carefully he applied pressure. The head of his cock slipped in, and Graham's body reacted, tightening. Angel paused, using tiny pulsing moves to enter the tight sheath, fraction by fraction, showing more patience and care than he had been capable of earlier, when the madness had gripped him.

 

Graham went absolutely still, anticipating pain, hoping against hope for more of the pleasure Angel had shown him was possible. The vampire loomed over him, big and broad, solid, in human guise, watching. Graham felt him sinking in, stretching him. The burn was back, but only a tiny bit, not overwhelming this time. Ten minutes and at last, Angel was in, to the hilt, sheathed as deeply as he could go, and Graham was not in pain, not screaming. It was...OK. He could do this. Take this.

 

Angel dropped his head, opened his mouth, and licked a broad stroke over the bud of one dark nipple. Then he sucked, nibbling at the bead. Pulling at it, while Graham panted, his hands flailing in the air, until Riley braved the vampire's wrath and grabbed it again. Angel sucked harder, drawing the nipple away from Graham's chest. Teasing it with gentle teeth, staying lodged deep inside the young man, unmoving.

 

Graham thrashed. Letting out short, moaning sounds, cries, as Angel suckled at him. One side then the other. Sensations that went right to Graham's gut, to his balls, driving him wild, his anus spasming around the thickness filling him to capacity. And that started a whole new wave of sensation, the tightening of his body around the erection buried in him. His own erection was filled with pounding blood, standing out from his body, throbbing with need.

 

Angel moved to his neck nuzzling, licking, nipping, then sinking fangs into the the sweat dewed skin. He drank, slowly, long, drawn out, sensual pulls at the fang marks. Not a feeding, more an adjunct to sex, that had the added benefit of nourishing him.

 

The vampire waited, immobile, waited...until Graham moved. Until Graham shifted his hips and squirmed, using his powerful legs to move the vampire's body. Then Angel moved as well, sliding in and out. Rocking them together, in perfect rhythm, striking and sliding over the bundle of nerves with each drawn out stroke. While Graham writhed under him. Clenched around him. While the man's body melted, all resistance gone.

 

"Angel..." a moan.

 

"Angel..." a gasp.

 

"Angel..." a cry.

 

"Angel..." a scream as long ropes of cum flew from Graham's cock, splashing them both. Cool fluid filling him as Angel released.

 

Angel smiled, feeling the power surging inside of him. The power of the thralls, his thralls. Filling him. He looked around finding the gaze of the one, Riley, fixed on him, wary. Seeing the hands of his thralls gripped tight. That he decided, was acceptable.

 

Then he looked for the other, for Xander. And found him at the end of the bed, off onto the floor, dark brown eyes visible over the edge, staring, clawed hands digging into the mattress, hanging on tenaciously. That was not acceptable.

 

"Come here," Angel growled.


	20. Chapter 20

  
Author's notes: Dealing with Xander, and...the visits begin.  


* * *

Xander didn't move. He eyed the vampire with blatant distrust from his spot of perceived safety on the floor. It was clear that at the slightest sign of danger he would vanish under the heavy bed in a reapeat of the action he'd taken during the last time Angel had tried to mate with him.

 

Xander's gaze flicked down to where Graham's legs were still loosely wrapped around the vampire's hips and thighs. The tanned young man panting, regaining his breath after sex that he had unexpectedly enjoyed after the very rocky start. Then Xander's gaze moved back up to reassess the vampire's intentions, not willing to be distracted for long. Angel saw the thoughts flickering through the dark haired man's eyes. He would need more incentive than a simple command to lure Xander back on to the bed.

 

Angel bit into his own wrist, sinking his fangs deep into the pulse point there, let the trickling blood run down his arm. Then, slowly, he offered it to Graham as he lay quiessent, under him.

 

Graham who took it without hesitation, lapped at the stream of red, with languid strokes of his tongue, still caught up in the post orgasmic languor. He fed from the wound, lips ghosting over the lacerations, tongue caressing. Throat working. Sighing. It was good blood, blood from his master. Graham swallowed it gratefully. Good thrall, Angel thought, fighting the urge to smile approvingly.

 

Xander watched the drinking of blood, just as Angel did. Not letting Xander see how closely he was being observed. Angel watched when Xander, his nervous thrall, rose up higher, head and shoulders above the edge of the bed, trembling with indecision. Attention fixed on the blood feeding. Nose twitching. He licked his lips.

 

Angel bit his other wrist and made a show of it for Xander when he held it out to Riley. Riley took the dripping limb, holding it carefully, grimacing in a way that made Angel smile faintly. Even grimacing, Riley was unable to resist the urge to put his mouth on it. It squicked him big time, but his stomach rumbled, and he salivated just from the coppery scent, and the tang running over his taste buds. His mental revulsion stood no chance against the pounding drive that commanded him to drink.

 

Angel shuddered in reaction to the powerful feeling he was getting from two of his men drawing hard at his body and blood. Letting the thralls feed was intensely pleasurable. His skin rippled in his joy. Even so, he kept an eye out for Xander. And saw when the man rose up over the end of the mattress and crept onto the bed. Keeping low to the bed, and warily observing Angel. Xander inched closer, belly down on the bed, eyes hooded as they assessed the situation. There was almost no warning.

 

With startling suddenness, Xander sprang. Launching himself at the vampire. Hitting him in mid torso, and bearing him backwards, legs folded under. Going for the vampire's throat, were-fangs bared. Angel only just succeeded in tearing his bloody arm out of Graham's hold and thrusting it into Xander's snapping jaws in time to avoid having his throat torn open.

 

Xander gnawed at the arm, drinking the fresh, spurting blood from the torn flesh. Riley helped Graham drag himself out from under the sprawling Xander and Angel. Angel let himself fall into the sensation, as Xander fed ravenously. Each draw on the wound was exquisite, a combination of pain and glorious pleasure. He shivered, fighting to extricate his legs from their uncomfortable position. Then once he had, he wrapped them around Xander loosely, more to cradle the body on top of him than to imprision or trap him. And certainly not to offer Xander a dominant role in sex. That was not in the cards. Angel was the master. His thralls, all of them, would eventually submit to him. He would not submit to them.

 

With his free hand, Angel began stroking up and down Xander's spine. Rubbing the base of his skull, and into the thick, dark silk of the boy's hair, then all the way down, to the crease of his buttocks. Petting him with care, impersonal in the sense that it was not an invasive touch, not sexual. A touch intended to get Xander to calm, to realize his feeding was not going to be cut short. And Xander tolerated it, though he rolled his brown, black gaze up every now and again to reassess Angel and his apparent motives. Angel's blood rimmed his mouth. The vampire felt the urge to lick it off fill him.

 

At last the wound sealed over, and Xander seemed content not to re-open it. He lay on top of the vampire and burrowed his face into the crook of Angel's neck. His tongue stole out and placed a careful lick there. A thanks of sorts. He settled down, on top of the vampire and permitted his master to hold him, not struggling to get away. Angel had no doubt that if he showed too much arousal, Xander would flee.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Wesley lifted his head when the knock sounded at the front doors of the Hyperion. Polite but firm. He glanced at the clock on the desk. Twelve minutes after midnight. Hm. Late for casual visitors. He rose to his feet and went to the doors, looking out through the mostly glass doors.

 

A tall, slender figure stood there, elegant in a tailored grey suit. Short, dark hair expensively styled. Dark skinned, creamy cocoa. full mouth, complete with a disapproving half-sneer. And, in Wesley's educated assessment, a vampire. He felt that otherworldly power coming off the visitor in waves. Strong, this one. Glittering black eyes took Wesely's appearance in from shoes to the top of his head.

 

"May I help you?" Wesley asked, hearing a door open behind him. Doyle came to stand next to him, silent, but very much interested in the meeting and conversation going on. The vampire sniffed delicately, his eyes traveling over Doyle with more interest than they had over the Englishman.

 

"I have been called." The vampire said after a long moment. Addressing Doyle, who failed to stop his brows from rising.

 

"Called?" Wesley inquired. "By whom?"

 

The man drew himself up to his full height. Looking down his nose at the two men in the doorway. "The master has called me, demon." He addressed his reply to Doyle, again. Coming very close to ignoring Wesley completely. Wesley fought not to roll his eyes. Vampires were certainly not free of predjudice. This one clearly thought humans beneath his notice if there was any other choice available. Doyle shifted his feet.

 

They were saved from answering the visitor, when Angel's new door to the third floor suite slammed open. All eyes lifted to watch as Angel came down the stairs at a rapid clip, his thralls, in various stages of dressing, followed him. Angel himself wore only dark slacks that he zipped as he came. No shirt, no shoes. He was in full gameface, eyes glowing a forbidding gold as he advanced on the group standing at the entrance to the hotel.

 

"Who are you?" Angel growled out, advancing aggressively. "Why are you here?"

 

"I am Balthazar Bayne. I felt your call....master." The last word was a forced whisper through clenched teeth. It didn't tell Wesley anything much, aside from the fact the vampire might not be happy being "called" here, but Angel seemed satisfied.

 

"This is my house. All who reside here, or work here, are under my protection. You may enter bearing that in mind." Angel turned and went back up the stairs, Xander, Riley, and Graham trailing him, Graham finally finishing with his buttons, Xander glaring suspiciously at the vampire who stepped into the hotel's lobby, and then followed them up the stairs to one of the salons.

 

Wesley and Doyle glanced at each other, then Doyle went up after them, while Wesley diverted to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Taking it upstairs would provide an excellent entre into the meeting Angel had not invited him to. On the other hand, he hadn't expressly forbidden Wes or Doyle from joining them, either.

 

Back on the third floor, Graham left the others, going to Angel's closet and choosing a black silk shirt, silk socks and matte finish shoes. He carried them back to the salon and assisted Angel in dressing. Keeping his eyes lowered. Even so, he never let his awareness of the visitor wane.

 

Riley stood next to Angel as Graham held the shirt, while Angel slipped his arms in, then buttoned the front of the shirt. His blue eyes were fixed on the strange vampire. Not trying to be as subtle as Graham about his observations. Xander's distrust was even less hidden. He placed himself in front of Angel, growling, showing fangs far longer than a vampire's, until the vampire behind him laid a hand on his shoulder and moved him aside. Angel sat, and Graham slipped the dark socks and shoes onto his feet. Angel stroked the short, dark blond hair.

 

"Sit," Angel said. And all of them did. Doyle came close to sitting down right there in the hall when Angel uttered his command. He frowned. Not liking his automatic reaction to obey that order, that tone. Not liking it at all.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Wesley carried the tea service into the salon. Angel turned and met his gaze, but didn't say anything about the researcher's presence. The visiting vampire frowned at the intrusion, clearly wanting to say something, but biting his tongue to hold back the words.

 

"Wesley." Angel said. He waited until the man looked at him. "Bring me an empty cup." Wesley did, puzzled, standing by while Angel handed the cup to Riley. Then he opened a small cut over a vein, and let the blood drip into the cup. Three fat, dark crimson drops, then he extened his wrist to Xander. Who licked the laceration closed. Riley carried the cup back to the tea pot, waiting for Wes to pour.

 

Then, Riley held the cup out to Balthazar. Who reached for it eagerly. Hands shaking, eyes glued to Angel's face, until Angel nodded, then the other vampire raised the steaming cup to his lips and drank, barely managing not to gulp the elixir down.


	21. Chapter 21

  
Author's notes: Balthazar, then back to Sunnydale.   


* * *

Balthazar lowered the cup to rest it, and it's matching saucer, on his knee. He shuddered once, twice, his eyes closed in apparent reverence. Like a man having a religious experience. They all were caught in his expression; the thralls watched with understanding, they had tasted Angel's blood. They knew what a potent draught it was. Xander's eyes narrowed, suspiciously.

 

Doyle felt a frisson of alarm run over his skin, and the wave of red, that preceded his demon form, followed by a wave of spiky green shooting out over his skin...he forced the change down and away, more distraction wasn't what this situation needed.

 

He could sense Angel. He realized he had been able to for a few days now, but he had not been paying attention, hadn't figured out what the odd 'awareness' in the back of his brain was. Angel. He knew that was it. He also knew it made him nervous. Hell, hadn't a single command almost had him sitting in the middle of the hallway like some rube? Doyle wasn't a vampire. Angel should not be able to affect him like this. It was..insidious. Irresistible. Scary.

 

Balthazar, while remaining perfectly proper and unruffled, still conveyed a picture of a man in the throes of bliss. He opened his bottomless, black eyes to reveal golden orbs, burning with swirling vampire light. He licked his lips, running the tip of his tongue over their ripe fullness. Wesley swallowed so loudly that all heads turned in his direction. All but Angel's. Doyle stared at the Englishman. He almost reeked of guilty arousal. So, so *not* good.

 

Doyle turned back to look at Balthazar. With his short cropped hair, and creamy, coffee skin, spare and elegant lines, he was lovely. And he was totally fixated on Angel. The two vampires were looking deep into each other's eyes. Angel was smirking faintly, and Balthazar...he looked pole-axed. Dazed.

 

He dropped his gaze to the tea cup he held in his lap, clutched in trembling fingers, seeming puzzled at first as to what he was holding, then he appeared to recall himself, and gently set Wesley's prized cup aside, carefully. Wesley's exhaled breath of relief made it to Doyle's hearing. And the half-demon had to grin, Wesley fussed like a grandmother over his heirloom tea service, treating it like a favored child. Doyle imagined he could actually feel the lessening of tension once the cup and saucer were safe, out of the way. Though he also imagined Wesley would give them a more than normal scrubbing after this blood-and-tea event.

 

Xander stirred restlessly, impatient with the inaction. He stretched his neck and looked up at Angel, his large brown eyes begging for.... Huh. Well, Doyle thought, he looks like a pup asking it's master for a scratch behind the ear...and then Doyle's eyes went wide as Angel reached out...and scratched Xander behind first one ear, then the other. And Xander practically purred, his eyes drifting closed in ecstasy, while Angel smiled indulgently, the edges of his lips quirking up.

 

Graham sat still, watchful, snugged up to the vampire, seated on the floor between Riley and Angel's feet. Riley, Doyle noted, was barefoot. As were Graham and Xander. Riley looked the most uncomfortable of the three, sitting with his hands, one on each thigh, feet together, not at all relaxed. Graham was impassive, not taking his eyes from the visitor, projecting a sense of preparation and readiness. Xander, now that he was having a good scratch, seemed happily content.

 

Balthazar cleared his throat. Then again, obviously struggling with something. He raised his eyes. Bleeding back to the deep wells of black. His gaze met Angel's. They stared at each other. Then Balthazar moved forward, out of his chair, pure, fluid grace, onto his knees in front of Angel. He bent forward laying his palms flat on the carpeting, all twisted grey, blue and brown, a pattern from the hotel's hey-day, and lowered his face to the floor. Their eyes held contact until the last possible instant, when it would be impossible to keep the contact and put his forehead to the floor.

 

Angel watched. Regal. A king. An emperor. A general. A master. Balthazar's master. He bent forward, over Graham's shoulder, reaching, and lay his hand with surprising care on the back of the prostrated vampire's neck.

 

At the touch, Balthazar trembled.

 

Doyle sat perfectly still, the hair at the back of his own neck tight, raised, and shocks of unease rippling over his skin, more red and green waves, like a kaleidoscope. Oh, no. This was not the Angel he knew. This Angel scared the freaking hell out of him.

 

Doyle met Wesley's eyes. They were also filled with trepidation.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike opened his eyes. Focusing on the damned whiteness. He had hoped to wake up today to find this was nothing but a very bad dream. Too much caffeine, alcohol, nicotine, and bad blood... As usual, he was disappointed. Oz lay curled up next to him, sound asleep. That part wasn't so disappointing. Huh. Spike could have sworn he'd heard some sound that roused him to consciousness. He looked around.

 

"Bloody Hell!" He spat out, not jumping out of his skin only because he didn't want to wake Oz. The young, Asian soldier he'd sunk fang into a couple of days back, was now sprawled on his back, on the patch of white padded floor that Spike and Oz weren't on. Not much room at all in these sodding lock-boxes. And, lucky man, he too was wearing one of the white coveralls.

 

Spandex. Nice and stretchy and tight. And white. The dark hair at the man's crotch showed through easily, as well as the lumpier bits. Spike smiled. What was it with the Walsh-bitch? She had to love to see them like this, in revealing clothing, hands cupping genitals to try and hide them. Grown men, fully dressed, but still shy as girls. She must think it was a riot. Well, fuck-all if Spike was going to play her game. She wanted to look at his bits, well he didn't care. If she tried to put a nasty, old, unwelcome claw on him, then they' d have words. Loud words.

 

He shuddered. He'd learned to make do in his past, to take what he had to, but he really hated this cow. All this talk about him being evil and all, not that he minded that perception, but who was she to talk? Experimenting on perfectly nice, reasonably innocent, harmless demons like she did. Eeeeee.

 

The Asian guy looked to be knocked out, not much chance of waking up for a while. He smelled like the knock out drug. Spike hated that smell. Unfortunately Spike could also smell another odor. Not unpleasant at all. Thrall scent. Where did this bitch get off playing with him, and with the sacred vampire tradition? She had no idea what she was messing with. Spike might call himself the Big Bad, but he knew his place in the world. There was no way he should have thralls.

 

Thralls belonged to the strongest of the vampires. The ones who scared the fucking crap out of him. He hadn't met any vamp on American soil who was strong enough, with the ridiculous exception of his poofty Sire, to make thralls. If you weren't strong enough to make them, then you sure as hell shouldn't have them. Certainly not as a gift from some human who liked digging around in your head and fucking with things that shouldn't be fucked with. But, here he was, because of one mad doctor's meddling, with two. What the hell was he supposed to do?

 

Not a heck of a lot, he decided. It was out of his hands until he could get out. He had Oz, no choice there, and really he was happy with it. The werewolf was calm, could think for himself, and stay quiet. Not much to put one off a man like that was there?

 

He'd fed off the little guy, otherwise they'd both be dead, 'cause the bastards hadn't given him any choice of what to eat, and now...this other one, the soldier, was just laying there, smelling like another little part of heaven if he'd just reach out and take a bite. Spike could smell that they'd been bonded. None of his doing, but they were all stuck, now. So feed on the git, or let the kid die. Listen to the man die, watch it as it happened, right next to them in the cell. Very messy that. Add to that, he was cute as a bug's ear. But, he was also a soldier, and probably, with the way Spike's luck was, still loyal to the Initiative. He'd probably fight to protect his virtue. Tiresome fact. Spike sighed.

 

Spike had heard of and seen thralls back in Europe. They'd been loyal to their masters to the point of death, laying back and letting themselves be killed if it was their master's will. But. Spike wasn't sure if he was strong enough to foster that kind of loyalty. He didn't know if it was purely a blood thing, or if it was a power thing, too. If he couldn't tie the man to him with blood, then he would have to kill him eventually. No matter what value a thrall had, if the creature wasn't loyal, it couldn't be allowed to survive. Maybe Spike should just...but it made him cringe and the gorge rose in his belly when he thought of killing the man. Bleeding hell, he was already stuck in it too deep to get out.

 

Having Oz increased Spike's strength. He felt it, and had taken pains to hide the fact from anyone who was, undoubtedly, watching them. What else did these sick fucks have to do with their time? He didn't do anything exciting, or that he had not done before. He forced himself to act exactly the same. To rant about the lack of cigarettes. To ask for frosted flakes and blood. To rail and yell periodically. All in all, to act like a silly, clueless, easily manipulated and easily controlled git. One that threw temper tantrums but who eventually obeyed, sulking. It was an act that had served him well over the years. And saved his life more than once. It was useful, being underestimated.

 

He settled more comfortably around Oz, being sure to place himself between the two thralls. Who knew what the one would do once he awakened in a cell with a vampire he knew only as Hostile 17? Especially when the soldier figured out that he'd been put here as a buffet for the said Hostile. Yep, sparks would fly.

 

Oz stirred. Spike petted the damp, strawberry blond fluff of hair away from his thrall's forehead. They could use a bit more ventilation in this place. Oz sweated every time he fell asleep. He waited to see if the man would wake or if he was just resettling himself. There wasn't a hell of a lot to do here, besides eat and sleep. They didn't talk much, Spike was adamant at not taking the risk the Initiative might have listening devices planted capable of picking up the softest whispers. Giving these sadists any more ammunition was not in Spike's plan.

 

That brought to mind one urge he had not given into. One that was growing stronger. The urge to mate. He wanted to fuck Oz. He didn't lie to himself. Hardly mattered that he preferred lovely, sweet smelling girls. He'd made do in the past with a bloke or two. No shame in it.

 

But this was different. This was master and thrall. He would lose control and *fuck*. Rut. Drill Oz into the mattress...uh, padded floor, if they didn't get out soon. Cameras rolling he'd bet. Probably a row of clipboard-carrying scientists standing just on the other side of the Plexiglas, staring and taking notes. That would go over well with Oz. Didn't matter how much self confidence a bloke had, he didn't want to be watched by strangers while he was taking it up the bum.

 

"You OK with this homosexual stuff?" Oz asked sleepily, a mere puff of air, barely words to hear. Spike grinned. He didn't know how Oz did it, but he seemed to be able to read Spike's thoughts. Spike rolled his face so his lips were brushing along the outer rim of the werewolf's ear. Hoping they wouldn't be overheard.

 

"Sure. I was young once. I used to subscribe to every young man's theory of flirting. If they're holding still, not running for the hills, they are flirting with me. And why waste good flirting? Man, woman, never mattered so much." Spike replied, with a wry grin. Oz nodded. Calm. Spike liked his style. It was almost enough to make him believe in ghod. This kid was perfect for him, despite all the bizarre shit that had happened in order to get them together.

 

A foot away, the Asian man woke up, blinked, and looked around. Then he jerked upright, grabbed his head, turned grey, then green and puked all over Spike's feet.

 

"Fuuuuck-aaaaallll." Spike howled. "Get the man a bleeding bucket!" There was no response from outside the cell.


	22. Chapter 22

  
Author's notes: spike, oh spike, time to get it done. The release, then the Release.  


* * *

Spike sat up. No more white room. No more lights. It was night. Night...outside of the Initiative.

 

He looked around, suddenly anxious, then he saw he wasn't alone. Oz was stretched out beside him on top of the king-sized mattress, and, Spike looked over his shoulder, so was soldier-boy. He relaxed, flopping back onto his back. The most important thing, aside from the fact both his thralls were present, was that they were no longer in the Initiative cell. Nor the laboratory, nor the compound at all. Some where else.

 

Whoo, hoo. Spike thought. He'd yell it out loud after he figured out if they were safe, if it was bad to attract attention here, and where they were. Not necessarily in that order. He also had learned the soldier-boy didn't like to be surprised much. Best not to yell until he was already awake.

 

Getting acquainted with that one...well, as Spike expected, not all had gone smoothly. The first feeding was force against force. The young man had fought, grimly and well, dropping into a fighting stance, and using literally every part of his body in the effort to beat Spike black and blue. And he'd done a fine job of it. In the end Spike had resorted to knocking him out, and drinking from his wrist while he lay there.

 

The second feeding had been only slightly less violent. Spike only dazed the thrall, and fed. Nicholas, that was the name of the thrall, had been upset. He'd threatened. Screamed. Clawed, whimpered. Oz held him after. Petted him. And Soldier-boy had let him. Spike decided to keep the man drained, to make him as docile as possible. Thrall or not, if he hurt Oz, the kid was going to be toast.

 

Still, the third time was the worst. Not because Nicolas fought, but because of the drugs. Spike woke sputtering, a foul taste in his mouth. Oz was snoring, an unnatural snore, but his heartbeat was strong. Spike turned Oz onto his side, making sure he could breathe easily. Patting the fine hair, while he considered the predicament.

 

Spike didn't have to guess at what had happened. He'd agreed with Oz that the scientists might try something like this if he and Oz didn't mate soon. Only it wasn't Oz who smelled like sex on the hoof. It was Nicholas. Bloody. Yee. Spike found the puncture mark in the muscular, naked thigh once he went looking for it. Quite nice set of pins, he thought to himself. Full, well cut thighs, big calves, chock full of muscle, and damned fine knees. But. He was also knocked up on some sedative, downer something, and the real objective, an aphrodisiac. Crap.

 

Spike had a few things to contend with. His own puncture mark, found without the slightest difficulty, and the drug racing through his system, making him horny as a rutting bull. And his thrall's naked, aroused, moaning body.

 

Christ on a crutch. Clearly, Nicholas hadn't a bloody clue where he was, who he was, or what he wanted to be doing, or not doing. His eyes were rolled up into his head, contemplating the inside of his skull. His pretty, little, toffee-brown prick was hard, and that was all that was on his mind. It sort of focused Spike's attention as well. He squeezed his hard dick, in an effort to get some control back. Hurting hard. Yeah, like that was going to work.

 

Spike liked the look of Nicholas naked and smooth, a lovely, faint, ivory tan. With darker nipples, in perfect ovals, nearly flat, until Spike reached over without meaning to and stroked one. It peaked up nicely. And the boy rolled around. His washboard abs flexing, drawing the vampire's eye. Bloody hell. Bloooooody hell. So, Spike decided, watching the rolling and listening to the moaning, still trying to squeeze the interest out of his hard on, he had a decision to make.

 

Very simple. Did he fuck the boy now? Or did he wait until the scientists increased the dose and decreased his control? WHAT control? He asked himself bitterly. Which would be better? Well, duh. Fuck the thrall now. Or take the chance on hurting him next time, when he didn't know what he was doing. Then he'd be burdened with an injured thrall. Harder to run like hell if he had to carry the git.

 

Spike found a large tube of lubricant, open already, when he sat on it, a slippery mess, and sure enough, when he checked the soldier, he was well greased. Now that was just too wrong for him to think about. These were the same people the boy had worked with day in and day out. And the sick buggers had prepped Yee to get fucked, and left him, nearly unconscious. Unable to defend himself. Naked as a jaybird. And they were no doubt lined up six deep next to a monitor, waiting to watch the man get drilled. Raped. That was some cold shit.

 

Even so, Spike had his work to get done. He knew the time had come to give in and do the deed. He took a sniff, drawing in the scent of his bloodmark. Too hard to resist when he was touching the bloke. This close. He wanted...well, he was going to do it, but not make a huge production. He hoped.

 

He kept Yee on his side, carefully slipping his fingers into the soldier. Tight but not impossible. Spike added a second finger, gently stretching the ring. Yee groaned again, not helping Spike's control one whit. The vampire's thighs went into a spasm, his prick fucking at the air. But, it meant soldier boy would get something out of it.

 

Spike put in a third finger. Wiggled it, looking for that certain spot...he turned his wrist, pressed, and...Nicholas sighed, his hips quivering, lifting a knee to open himself. Spike let his brows raise. Well, don't ask and do tell!

 

He guided the man up onto all fours, took the opportunity to look down at him. The dark cleft was beckoning him. The dimples just above his ass, perfect fit for Spike's thumbs when he held the slim hips. He cupped those nice round cheeks in his palms for a few moments, before easing them apart, positioning himself, and sliding in. Smooth as butter. Slow and steady. Nicholas moaned, shifting back, tightening for a minute. Kid had a grip, Spike thought, as he paused, panting, praying, letting him adjust.

 

Nicholas dropped forward, still on his knees, but with his face planted in the floor. Ho-ly, ghod. Don't, don't do that. struggling not to fall on the boy like a ravening beast, Spike moved cautiously. Hot, silky, slick. Still smelling like all kinds of lust. Blood and lust and lube and pheromones. He drove in to the hilt, felt the tunnel quiver around him. Pulled back out, felt Nicholas lift his hips, trying to follow, to keep Spike inside.

 

Drove in. Pulled out. Clawed at the slender hips, hissing. The vampire fought to keep his control. It didn't help that he could see the ring of the thrall's body surrounding his own prick. Could see and feel it as he rode in deep, pulled out until only the head of his cock was left inside. Hesitated, sharpening the need for both of them, before plunging back in. Nicholas calling out wordlessly, arms splayed out across the padded whiteness of the floor. Clawing weakly.

 

Spike closed his eyes, depriving himself of the view, but it was far too late. It hit him. The urge to fuck. Brilliant. Why now? It surged though him. He grit his teeth. Well, he knew why now...but he couldn't let go. He fucked with short stabbing strokes, desperate, fast. Not here, not now. Not without doing the boy some real harm. Even as he decided it, he was driving into the body of his thrall. The meaty smack of their bodies was punctuated by Yee's breathless cries.

 

He softened, his hips, the entrance to his body, like melting metal, burning, drawing Spike in, his arms limp, his face turned to one side, so Spike could see his open, gasping mouth. The man's channel clung to him like a loving hand. Hot, sticky, sweet, butterscotch caramel. Clinging, surrounding, not letting him go. Spike shivered, bending forward to cover the strong back with the front of his own body. His hips wouldn't cease their movement, he thrust and drew himself out, thrust again, and again, his eyes blurring, his attention only on the pliant body he was riding, hard, deep and to satisfaction.

 

He knotted a hand in the short, spiky hair. No. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Slow it down, stay in control. He pushed the boy forward, off of his knees, rode him down, spreading his legs, not going in so deep now, a psychological victory, but he still was in trouble here. He licked the side-turned face, licked the faintly bristly, mostly hairless jaw. The flavor hitting him, he hissed, snapping his hips forward, grinding them into his thrall. Losing, still losing. The burning heat of orgasm was close though. He could do this, he could last, without harming his thrall. Without tearing out his throat.

 

Spike kissed the pulse in that stretched neck. Kissed it, with a not-kiss, more of a bite, sharp, and nibbly. His fangs were the longest they'd ever been, the sharpest, and felt like there were too many. Too many fangs? What? He ran his tongue over them, while he fucked, trying to think, his forehead on the back of Yee's neck, his body arched high. Too sodding many fangs. Four where there should be two. What the *hell? Can't let the bitch find out...can't, she'd have his face cut open by some Hitler-esque dentist. Dissect him like a bug.

 

He had to scrape, he couldn't bite. Scrape with two fangs, not risk leaving four holes, perfectly spaced, to make a sado/scientist want to look in his mouth. He tore the flesh, whispering an apology in his head, licking up the spilled blood. Ghod it was hard not to sink fangs in. He wanted it with every thing he was. Bite, and drink. Not scratch and lick like some mincing pansy. Bite, tear, gulp, hot sweet, tangy, salty blood. Intoxicating, thrall blood, Aqua Vitae. The only thing that saved him, and Yee more damage, was his orgasm, rolling over him, catching him by surprise, panting hard, slamming into him, so he howled as he squirted the tight tunnel full of spunk. Screamed, veins popping out, going gameface.

 

Then it was done. Quiet. Just breathing next to him, Oz. Under him, Nicholas.

 

Thank ghod. He rolled his face across the moaning man's back, blood smearing over his face, wetting his platinum hair. Buried deep. Shaking. OK. Intense. That qualified. He felt like he'd shot his eyeballs out of his prick. But, he hadn't killed the boy. He didn't care if he never got off like that again. He hadn't killed the thrall. His thrall, and he had believed he would. But he hadn't.

 

Spike was easing himself out of the thrall's body when the tinny speakers came to life.

 

"Excellent, Spike. You have done well. Good boy." It was her, the bitch-doctor. Praising him.

 

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together so hard he almost broke a fang. He wanted to kill her. More than anyone he'd met in his long, long life.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

And now. They were not in the Initiative any longer. They were out. Spike crept up out of the crowded bed. His hand trailing over Oz's warm skin. His touchstone. He headed for the window. Looked out. Recognizing downtown Sunnyhell.

 

Fine. He wasn't going to complain. Anywhere was better than where they had been. But. Spike also wasn't going to stay here. There was only one vamp he could run to with something like this. His Sire probably wouldn't kill him. The other vamps would, or they'd try.

 

LA, he thought, here I come. Hope the poof has a nice pad to put me...us, up in. Spike wasn't looking forward to a dusty, musty crypt without plenty of time to renovate. He turned away from the window. Time to wake the boys.


	23. Chapter 23

  
Author's notes: On the way to LA....  


* * *

Angel stared down at the thick, smooth, ivory stationary he held. Just what he needed, since he had nothing but free time on his hands, he thought sarcastically. He forced himself to read the short, flowery scripted, note again.

 

Daddy, (he read)

 

I know you will be happy for me. I have found a darling, sweet girl wandering on the streets, all alone at night. I have decided to keep her. She is alone now, without me. I was hungry, daddy, and I ate her friends before I could stop. She says she is not upset with me. She has forgiven me, and they were so yummy-nummy, she understands. She lets me play with her nice blond hair, I have given her clips to dress it up.

 

I know you are pleased. I was so lonely after Spikey left to go back to the Hellmouth. Now I have a girlfriend to keep me company. And the other vampires around here seem to like her as well. We are very happy with all the new friends who visit. We all like to sit on the roof and watch the stars fall.

 

your loving Childe, Drusilla.

 

 

Angel dropped the letter onto the desk, looking at it like it was a coiling snake. It was abundantly clear what it meant. Anya, was the missing blond. She was with Dru. In New Jersey, and they were forming their own little ruling court. Dru had taken, or rather been given, a thrall by the Initiative, one who was in reality a thousand year old vengeance demon. He wondered if the Walsh brainiacs knew that. Or if they were aware of Drusilla's own...limitations.

 

He rubbed his aching eyes. No. He didn't need another headache now. He looked up as the door opened, and Riley peered in, gaze searching, then, once he saw the vampire, he slipped into the room, Graham and Xander behind him. They approached, Riley looking concerned. He stopped in front of the desk.

 

Xander didn't halt in front of the desk. He went around the edge and stood so that Angel's shoulder was in contact with his body. Angel let out a sigh. Good. The contact helped him feel better.

 

Almost shyly, Xander offered his wrist. Equally solemnly, the vampire accepted the offering, and gently sank his fangs into the the pulse. Xander shifting on his feet, sharing the pleasure of the bite.

 

The headache vanished as his mouth filled with blood. Potent, fragrant, healing, thrall's blood. Riley and Graham waited for him to finish. When he'd licked the four tiny wounds shut, Graham nodded and Riley spoke.

 

"There is a visitor." Riley said, for the twentieth time this week. Angel nodded, glancing into the hall over the thrall's shoulder. Searching for the guest. The hall however remained empty. Riley interpreted the question, unasked.

 

"Wesley is entertaining." Riley said. Angel smirked, Wesley had turned into quite the hostess of the hotel. All in all it was not a bad thing, this domestic turn of Wesley's. As Riley continued, Angel quickly lost his smile. "Balthazar is watching over him."

 

Balthazar. How much could that one be trusted to watch over anyone who belonged to Angel? His rich, accented voice, was it Creole? His slinky good looks. His holier than thou carriage. His subtle demands for Angel's blood. He hated humans, they were nothing more than cattle, food, easy bodies. Yet, he could not stop looking at Wesley with eyes that almost ate him where he stood. And Wes, simpering, blushing, letting off all those pheromones. Trouble.

 

Angel led the way down the stairs to the second floor meeting room. He entered the room, and listened to the conversation, so genteel, polite. Doyle pushing the tea cart, an excuse to stay near his friend. Wesley adding sugar and lemon, looking up, both of them, when Angel entered. Doyle frowning, faint, almost little enough that Angel could dismiss it. But...those green eyes, he couldn't set their look aside. Doyle was not happy. Was anyone?

 

Gunn, looming over Wesley as Wes was asking how they all took their tea, the new vampire answering, his eyes intent on the throbbing pulse at Wesley's pale throat. Bruised throat. Gunn glowering at Angel, blaming him. Angel felt the rage boil in his gut. He saw red.

 

"Balthazar." It was Xander who said it under his breath. The vampire named, turned his black eyes their way but otherwise, did not react. His arms remained crossed over his chest. Keeping watch over *his* human. Angel's look promised retribution, and the dark gaze dropped. Then rose to watch Wesley, face carefully blank.

 

Angel made his way across the room, directly to Balthazar. He cupped the strong chin in his palm, turning the fine featured face his way. He held the other vampire still, feeling every muscle in the cool body protest his action.

 

"Balthazar." Angel let the name fall from his lips like granite striking the floor. "Do you challenge me? Do you push me?"

 

Black eyes met his own. Not offering him any response. Not reacting.

 

"You feed from my people without asking." Angel said, low and warning. "I told you, my people were not to be touched. What must I do to reinforce this rule?"

 

"I asked." Balthazar responded, his voice thin with the pressure on his throat.

 

"Who did you ask?" Angel asked him, rubbing his thumb along the sculpted jaw, just grazing the full mouth, moving aside the lower lip, exposing the beginnings of fangs.

 

"I asked the human." The sneer, though faint, was definitely there. Angel cast his gaze in Wesley's direction. Sure enough, the man was blushing crimson. Did the researcher know what Balthazar thought of him? What the vampire's true feelings were?

 

"You will ask me. When it comes to my people. I will say yes. Or no." Angel said, leaning in to trace the expanse of dark throat. "So, Balthazar, may I feed from you?" He asked softly, but loud enough that all in the room could hear.

 

Balthazar swallowed. "My master, my blood is yours to take, or to refuse."

 

"Yes. That is the right answer." Angel almost purred in approval. He sank his fangs into the stretched throat, not missing the gasp of unwilling ecstasy combined with pain, and he drank. Hard pulls, but long and slow, drawing it out until Balthazar was shaking against him.

 

Angel slipped and arm around him, holding him near. He drew in more blood, drank it down. The power in the other's blood would once have impressed him. Now it was not nearly so strong as the thrall's blood he supped from daily. Not nearly as strong as his own.

 

Balthazar let out a sound of surrender, sagging in the larger man's hold. Angel smiled. 'Yes. You want this, what I can give you. You crave it and need it. And only I can give it to you.' He pulled away. Licking until the trickle of blood stopped. A purpled bruise remained on the previously flawless skin. He pushed his thumb into the vampire's gasping mouth, letting the extended fang scrape his flesh.

 

He counted the drops. Two, three, seven, ten, then he pulled his thumb out, Balthazar's mouth sucking at his digit, greedily, wanting all of his master's blood he was allowed. His tongue cleaned the streak of blood left on his lips. Then Angel turned from him, hands falling away, the tall vampire leaning into the withdrawing touch as if he could not bear to let it go.

 

"Your name?" Angel asked, walking over to stand in front of the newest vamp. The light green eyes lifted to meet his, the blond hair caught back in a thick knot at the nape of his neck. Aesthetic look to him. Like a monk of past ages. Angel was intrigued, this one would stay. He had accepted tribute from all twenty of his visitors, tied them to him with blood, but only Balthazar had been told to stay. Now, this one would as well.

 

"I am Alistair." He knelt without being asked. His hands by his sides. His face turned up as if to worship the sun.

 

"Alistair." Angel met those odd green eyes. He traced the edge of the vampire's cheek with his fingertip. "Let down your hair, Alistair. For me."

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike hot wired the car. A rusty, old Buick, with a big back seat and trunk, that he'd located behind a garage. No keys, but a full tank of gas, which was more important now. After he'd be-spelled the soldiers hidden not very well across from the dive they woken up in, he didn't want to show himself at a gas station. Tho it was night, and that meant it would be a demon at the pump, and just maybe the demon wouldn't share information with the Initiative. Spike snorted. Yeah. Right. Money talks, even with demons. Loyalty was thing of the past.

 

The big, monster of a car roared to life. And Spike smiled. He loved these old junkers, big as a boat, they were. If they couldn't get to Angel tonight, he'd be reasonably comfortable waking up in the trunk. Not a Honda-pretzel. He loaded his two thralls into the back seat, and wasted no time in hitting the road. He floored it when they reached the long, flat stretch of highway heading down the coast to LA. To his Sire. He shuddered. No telling the welcome they'd receive. Best not to think on it too hard.

 

Oz leaned against the back of the seat, arms resting on the back of the bench seat, and chin on top of them, so he was close to Spike. Spike found he liked, really liked the feel of the boy's hot breath floating over the side of his neck and cheek. Lovely, it was.

 

"You had sex with him?" The werewolf asked. After they reached the highway and were speeding along.

 

"I thought you were knocked out..." Spike answered, puzzled, then tapped the side of his nose. "Sorry. Forgot about the sniffer."

 

Oz nodded, forgivingly. "Have a lot to think about, getting us out of Sunnydale. How did it go?"

 

"How did it go?" Spike looked in the rear view. Nicholas was sitting upright, snoring softly, head lolling side to side. Out. Oz glanced over at him, then back at the vampire. "I think he is asleep. Pretty sure that he is."

 

"Yeah. Well. He needs his beauty sleep, don't he?" Spike said, thinking about what he should say. Not that Nicholas Yee was anything short of a beauty with or without more sleep. "Wasn't as bad as it could have been." He finally settled on. And that was the truth. NO one died.

 

"What is it going to be like with me and you?" Oz asked quietly, after a pause of a few miles.

 

"Better than that, precious." Spike assured him. "Not going to be high on some chemical hormones when I go for you, now, will I?" Oz seemed to think about that.

 

"How is Angel going to take it, us showing up with you?" Oz asked then.

 

"The poof is going to freak." Spike stated. "He doesn't like surprises. He tends to deal with them, permanently."

 

"I heard that Angel is one of the good guys." Oz stated, repeating what Buffy and the Scoobies, all but Xander, said.

 

Spike couldn't hold back a snort. "Don't know how that little rumor got started, prolly the same way the one about the unsinkable Titanic did. Holds the same amount of water. Listen to the primer on me Da."

 

"There isn't an Angel separate from Angelus. There never has been. The gypsies thought they could spell a soul into him, make him all good, all suffering, and maybe they changed him a bit, giving him that soul, but more like the killing just finally got to him and he wanted to stop. He has never been just the one you called Angel. Angelus was never banished to some hidey hole, unable to climb out. I should know, he raised me from fledgling, to minion, to sort of master. And he is still the same old vamp."

 

"Willow said..." Oz started. And Spike shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the black top as they sped along.

 

"No. Angel is old and clever. He knows how to seem to be whatever the situation calls for. He isn't a monster, and he isn't a saint. Angel is not kind all the time, and Angelus isn't cruel. Wills just never wanted to believe what her own eyes told her."

 

"So he never loved Buffy?"

 

The car swerved, and Spike brought it carefully back under control, reducing his speed to a sedate eighty-five. Mustn't chance on getting his thralls hurt. He winced. Buffy. Poor bird. The car was filled with silence while Spike thought about how to answer that.

 

^^^^^^^^^

 

Dr. Walsh was floored. Her surveillance team had lost the new vampire and his thralls. Another mess. How could they have failed her again? How did one lose a chipped vampire and one out of commission thrall? Oz was healthy. But Yee was still drugged, and would be for several more hours. How did the teams miss him being carried out?

 

"I am not ready to talk to you." Walsh told the soldier standing in front of her. "I think you should go out, find my vampire, and report back to me when you have done that." She stood and looked at him. "Because you certainly don't want to tell me you failed."

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

"Angel." Gunn strode up to Angel, pulling Wesley behind him. "You have to stop this." He cut his eyes to Wesley's neck. Doyle entered the room, stopping near the door, listening unashamedly.

 

"I beg your pardon!" Wesley exclaimed, trying to free himself from Gunn's grasp. "It is no business of yours..."

 

"Quiet, Wes." Gunn told him, not relinquishing the hold he had on the smaller man's arm. "Balthazar is not good for you."

 

"Surely, I have the right to conduct my personal affairs as I see fit, without interference." Wesley sputtered. Outraged.

 

Gunn looked down at him. "Not in this case, no. Not with this vampire. You don't let them feed off of you. We've talked about it. Why now?"

 

"I...the past is the past." Wesley said, insistently. "I chose to..."

 

"To what? Let a vampire suck on your blood? Let a vampire who thinks of you as nothing more than a bag of blood, drink from you?"

 

"You don't have the right...." Wes gasped. Paler than before. Hand covering the mark on his throat.

 

"I do. And I have the obligation to stop it if I know you are hurting yourself. Or letting him hurt you." Gunn asserted. "You are my friend, Wes."

 

Angel looked at Gunn. His blood would be so sweet.


	24. Chapter 24

  
Author's notes: Spike arrives. Everyone is talking.   


* * *

"Where is Fred?" Angel threw the question out in the middle of the conversation going on around the kitchen table. The talk stopped. His thralls all looked up at him. Grey eyes, blue eyes, and brown. The others looked at each other. "I haven't seen her around in several days." He added.

 

Gunn looked at him, finishing his eggs, sopping up the yolks, losing his smile, his expression going serious. Doyle glanced away, stirring his Count Chocula. Wesley stared at his plate, empty save for a piece of toast which he had crumbled into bits instead of eating it. His teacup was still full, sitting untouched and cooling rapidly.

 

"With Lorne." Gunn said when no one else seemed inclined to speak. Kicking out a chair with one foot in a clear invitation for the vampire to sit down and share the breakfast. Angel sat next to Gunn, between him and Graham, Graham moving to make room, but not enough to keep his knee from touching Angel's.

 

Angel leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands. Xander smiled at him from across the table, a shy one, that lit up his face. Angel smiled back. Wesley stood up and made his way to the sink, dropping his plate in the tub of hot water. His back was stiff, unyielding.

 

"Wesley." Angel called after him, feeling the hurt and anger radiating off the man, even from where he sat. The researcher raised his hand and waved it in the direction of the table. "I would like for you to stay." Angel said.

 

"I can't." The Englishman whispered, his voice choked. And he left the room.

 

Angel raised his brows. "Why?" He said aloud.

 

"He thinks you and I made his choices for him, without asking him what he wants. That we are treating him like a child. He wants Balthazar. He has very strong feelings for him. But, since you forbade it, Balthazar won't talk to him, or feed from him. Leaves the room when Wes walks in." Gunn shrugged. "Wes is angry, and to make it worse, he feels like he can't do anything about it. Like you have cut off all of his options."

 

"I can't change that. Wesley is not safe with him." Angel said. "Balthazar does not view him as a being worth protecting or saving. He feeds. That is all."

 

"How do you know?" Gunn asked him. All sitting at the table were watching him as he spoke. Once he asked the question, they transferred their attention to Angel and waited for him to speak.

 

"Balthazar has never treated a human well. He has often espoused that they are cattle and should be kept as such. In pens." Angel told them baldly. Riley nibbled on a slice of cantaloupe, the juice wetting his lips distractingly. Gunn shook his head. Xander looked outraged, Doyle let the colored milk dribble from his spoon back into his cereal bowl, watching the irregular steam. Graham continued eating, his knee pressed tight to Angel's.

 

"You have been busy. I've been watching them, him, just to be sure he was safe. Balthazar hasn't hurt him." Gunn said, sounding faintly surprised at himself for saying it.

 

"That doesn't jibe with what you said in the office. Why have you changed your mind?" Angel asked. He was curious, because Gunn would sooner take the side of any human, rather than a vampire's.

 

Gunn stopped eating, pushing his plate away, apparently succeeding in eliminating his own, normally vast appetite. Xander looked at him, and when Gunn threw his napkin down, Xander reached out and snagged the crispy bacon that had been left on the warrior's plate, munching happily. Riley rolled his eyes, and kept eating from his heaped plate. Graham got up, walked to the refrigerator, took out a new gallon of orange juice and brought it back to the table. He filled Xander and Riley's glasses, looked at Gunn, offering, but Gunn shook his head.

 

Graham filled Doyle's glass, the sat down. Doyle poked at it, running a finger through the gathering condensation, but didn't drink.

 

"I started thinking. And Wes has been...complaining. He thinks he should be allowed a chance to see if this will work." Gunn didn't look happy. He had his neutral face on. The one that meant he was doing something that he knew might be wrong, but, he felt he had no choice.

 

"You are willing to let him take that chance? And if he is killed? How will you feel about the little experiment then? It is too great a risk." Angel looked at him, sharply. "And since when are you the champion of a vampire?"

 

"I am your champion, aren't I?" Gun said wryly. "So, I guess I have had sort of a head start on championing vampires."

 

Angel shook his head. "Believe me, Balthazar is not me. I will think on what you have said. I will also talk to Wes. Now, tell me why Fred is with Lorne."

 

"To keep her safe." Gunn waved an arm, including the entire hotel in the gesture. "Until things settle down around here."

 

"It won't. It is not going to settle down." Doyle said, speaking up for the first time, since Angel had come into the room. "It is never going to be the way it was." He sounded tired, and worried. He darted a glance at Angel, his expression haunted.

 

Angel shook his head. There was something going on with Doyle, too. He was much more upset by all of this than he should have been. Doyle had been through things far worse. Now, his eyes were hollow, bleak. Afraid, afraid when he looked at him. At Angel. Why should Doyle be afraid of him? Angel stood up, abruptly crossing over to where Doyle sat. He took Doyle's arm, tugging him to his feet, and brought him close.

 

"You and I need to talk, now." Angel said. "You need to tell me what has you so spooked."

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike clambered out of the trunk moments after Oz steered the Buick into the covered parking of the Hyperion Hotel. He jumped out, almost as soon as the motor shut off, happy that he'd only had to spend a little more than two hours inside the spacious trunk. Now, he was ready to see just how welcoming his Sire was going to be. He shook the wrinkles out of his duster. No need to present a less than dapper appearance.

 

He went to the back seat and carefully lifted Nicholas up, swinging the sleeping man over his shoulder, bouncing him a bit to position him, and delivering a somewhat affectionate smack to his buttocks. The slender man mumbled, stirring, and actually put an arm around Spike's torso for an instant, before it fell away as he went back to a deeper, drugged sleep. Spike grinned at Oz.

 

"Come on, precious, time to meet me Da." He peered around, pointed with the arm that wasn't securing Nicholas on his temporary perch. "There, the stairs. Let's go. No sense wasting time and worrying for nothing."

 

Oz stepped closer, actually putting a hand on Spike's back. "Then let's go." He said, evenly.

 

They climbed the stairs in silence. Two flights up, then stopped at the door. Spike turned to face Oz.

 

"You OK?" Oz asked, when Spike put a hand on his shoulder.

 

"Yeah. Fine." Spike said. "Listen, stay behind me. Alright? Angel can get a little excited over things."

 

"Yes. Do you want me to take him?" Oz touched the back of Nicholas' leg. "In case you need your hands free?" Spike thought about that.

 

"Yeah. Good idea." Spike said, and helped switch Yee from his hold, to Oz's. "Not too heavy for you? Is he?"

 

"No, I'm fine. I'm stronger than I look, you know." Oz said seriously. Spike nodded.

 

"I know. Werewolf and all, that's not something I am likely to forget. So. You ready?" Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath, as Oz nodded back. "OK. It's time."

 

And he opened the door, stepping into the lobby.

 

A tall, caramel and coffee skinned vampire stood there, he snarled, showing long fangs. Then his eyes flicked behind Spike, lighting on Oz and Nicholas. He sniffed the air, and his dark, dark eyes dilated. Spike could almost see his hackles rising. His voice rumbled, purred, slid like warm oil over Spike's skin. Oil mixed with shattered glass.

 

"Who are you?" Balthazar asked. His brows lifted towards his hairline. "Who are you to dare bring thralls into my master's home?"

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Doyle sat as if his legs would no longer support him, collapsing into the chair. Angel took the one next to him, sitting back and watching the pale Irish face. Doyle reminded him, at times, achingly of his native land. He might go months without thinking of Ireland in more than a fleeting way, then Doyle would say something in just such a tone, and Angel would be back two hundred and some years, in Ireland. Remembering.

 

Angel shook his head. Now was the time to deal with what problems he had presently. Not his reminiscence. Not the past. Doyle was pretty obviously upset. But, he hadn't come to Angel to talk. That bothered the vampire. He and Doyle were friends. He wanted Doyle to be able to talk to him.

 

"So. What has you so troubled?" Angel asked gently. "You don't want to look me in the eye this last week. Nor do you seek me out and talk. I miss it."

 

"Are you doing it on purpose?" Doyle blurted out. More aggressively than he had intended. Angel blinked.

 

"Doing what?" Angel asked, truly puzzled. "What is wrong, Doyle? Tell me and we will fix it. Together."

 

"When I am around you...I feel...I have to...Like I..." Doyle shook his head, then dropped his head forward to rest on his hands. "I can't even say it!" He mourned.

 

"You can. Just tell me." Angel encouraged.

 

"I...when you talk to me, when you talk to your vampires or your thralls...I...when I hear your orders and your commands....I have to fight not to obey them blindly. Even if they are not directed at me." Doyle finally got out. He glanced up to see Angel's reaction. The vampire looked surprised.

 

"That I didn't expect. The power given by the thralls sometimes touches other demons, not only vampire. And humans. I am sorry that it affects you." Angel tried to convey his sincerity.

 

"Are you?" Doyle challenged. "Are you sure you are not just a little happy about it? More power? You can make me hop, jump, sit, dance. Probably anything, if you spoke directly at me, ordered me to do something, I don't think I would be able to resist the command. If you told me to jump from the top of the hotel, I'd likely *run* right up there so as not to waste time, and do it!" Doyle rubbed his face. "I hate feeling like this."

 

"Like what, exactly?" Angel asked him, cautiously.

 

"Like I'd do anything to make you happy. Like I am always looking for a way to catch your attention." Doyle raised his eyes to Angel's worried face. Angel thought for a minute.

 

"I thought you and Cordy..." He ventured. Then stopped, frowned. "Am I misunderstanding?"

 

"No. You aren't." Doyle said. "I love Cordy. She is beautiful, has spirit, fire. I love women. I love the way they feel, the way they smell, the way they look. Cordy and I are...well we...we are together. In a way. Not in an out in the open way, but we are together."

 

Angel nodded. He'd scented that truth more than once, though the two hid it very well, going to elaborate lengths to conceal it from their co-workers. "Has that changed? Because of me? Because of what I am now? I know she was angry, is she still?"

 

"She is furious. She has asked me to leave, to stay with her, at night at least, if I insist on continuing to see you at all. But, I can't." Doyle's face contracted. "I tried. I had my bags packed, but when I hit the door...I couldn't go out. I couldn't. I felt like I was being torn in two. I love her Angel, I do."

 

"Yes. I know. Doyle. I don't know if I can change it, what is happening. It is beyond my control. I would help you if I knew how. Believe that."

 

"I know. That, in some ways makes it harder to take. Knowing it is all on my end." He held up a hand when Angel went to protest. "No. Don't. There is some part of me that submits to your authority, on a deeper level that I realized. I *serve* you, as if is is my destiny. And nothing is going to change that."

 

"Is there something I can do to make it easier, since I can't stop it altogether?" Angel was thinking out loud. Doyle shrugged.

 

"I don't know. I feel...I want...Like I..., Jesus, ghod." Doyle struggled to regain his composure. "That is not the worst of it," he began.

 

But Angel was suddenly not paying attention, was up on his feet, his face changing to gameface, his eyes going gold, glittering, feral, as he headed for the door. Sudden. So fast. Catching Doyle completely by surprise.

 

"Hey!" Doyle exclaimed. "Angel! What is it?" He was left gaping at the open door, then once he'd had a second to gather his wits, he raced out after the vampire, in hot pursuit.

 

Doyle hadn't been able to tell Angel the worst part. He'd been about to, he'd screwed up every last ounce of his courage to do it, had started stuttering his way to the revelation.

 

Then, before he could, Angel had run.


	25. Chapter 25

  
Author's notes: Spike arrives, and meets Angel's household.  


* * *

Angel sped along the landing of the third floor, looking over the rail, down all the way to the lobby. There was action going on way, way down there. He heard the blows as they landed, the grunts, smelled blood. And he needed to be there, to stop it, and to take control before something worse than a simple fight occurred.

 

He saw the fighting at last, when two bodies tumbled into view, Balthazar and someone else scuffling, grunting and growling. Then, he saw Xander, his brave, aggressive, possessive, beautiful Xander, streak across the floor, straight for another person, another stranger, who hastily dropped the snoring man he was carrying over his shoulder, taking care to cushion the fall as much as he could. Then the young man met Xander halfway, changing into a wolf in the blink of an eye, just as fast as Xander's transformation into a hyena. Angel made the decision on how he would arrive in that moment.

 

There was screaming and yelling and swearing...in a very familiar voice. Angel almost let himself smile. That voice...well Spike always managed to land in the midst of trouble if it was possible at all. And this time, he was going to be rescued from it, from his own abysmally bad luck.

 

Angel grabbed the edge of the railing and launched himself over the top and towards the floor, three stories below, arms spread, feet together. His loose, bronze silk shirt billowed around him as he flew through the air. It took far less time than he'd thought it would, far less time than it felt like. He was suddenly *there*, landing with a thump. Coming to rest on his feet and one hand, crouched down to absorb some of the impact, before he sprang up and jumped into the fray.

 

He caught Xander around the waist and heaved him away from the strange werewolf. Blood sprayed, and Angel was mesmerized for a dizzying second, the drawing, lingering, seductive scent of his thrall's rich, nourishing blood. It was momentarily disorienting. He was leaning in closer, his fangs extending before he caught himself, and drew his face and mouth away from Xander's pulsing throat.

 

Xander was screaming out wordlessly, a purely bestial challenge and rage. The sound of a male animal trumpeting his territorial imperative. Xander clawed frantically to try and get back into the fray, not hurting Angel, his master, much, giving him only shallow scratches, and a gouge or two. Xander wrenched himself side to side, wanting to escape the hold. But, Angel was just that little bit stronger and prevented it, lifting his thralls up off of the ground. Still, it didn't stop the other fighter, and the wolf came at him. All claws and teeth.

 

Angel kicked it in the chest, sending it flying up against the far wall. Which made the vampire fighting Balthazar yell. Oh, that was interesting, Spike's protest had more of an edge than expected. It would take some looking into. But, first things first. Holding Xander up over his head, Angel turned and sucked in a deep breath, before letting it out in a great shout.

 

"Enough!" The command rang through the lobby, all the way up to the rafters of the old hotel. A deep, belling, ringing, shout that filled every ear. Balthazar struggled for an instant then fell to his hands and knees, moaning, grabbing at his head, as the command tore through him. The second vamp stopped, and stood swaying, then quickly turned and his blue eyes searched frantically for the wolf and the young man on the floor. He put one hand to his head, shaking it. He let out an odd whine.

 

Graham had cautiously knelt next to the young man on the floor, and was looking him over. "Riley! It is Nick Yee!" His fingers sought out the pulse point in the man's neck. As soon as he touched the man, a second yell filled the air.

 

"Don't touch him!" The platinum haired intruder shrieked. Graham blinked, there was power there, not as much as his master's, and there was not the degree of compulsion that Angel's words brought, but still, more than the other vampires in the house had. Riley was also kneeling, looking for injuries.

 

Angel moved, "Spike!" He shouted, pursuing the dark streak of his Childe as Spike headed for the young man. He smelled...Oh fuck! Angel figured it out a fraction too late. Spike had thralls. Graham was touching one. The other vampire was going to lose it, attack Graham and possibly Riley. Angel was too far away to stop it. Spike was going to get to Graham before he was, and who knows how bad the vampire was going to hurt him in the second before Angel could get there....

 

A blond streak, hit Spike just as he was reaching out to grasp Graham, Riley cringing back from the lightning fast advance, face twisted in horror and anticipation of the assault...that Alistair managed to avert by fractions of an inch. Spike's extended finger's, grasping only air.

 

The werewolf flashed to human, up on his knees, and grunting. "Shit, that hurts," his hands were at his chest. But he was breathing and mobile if a bit slow getting up. His red hair shone, sticking up every which way. Angel dismissed him for the moment. Then had to redirect himself.

 

Xander made a magnificent leap for the young man, and again Angel had to grab him, catching him in mid leap, stretched out to his full length, his hide rippling with primitive power. That was it. Angel drew in another deep breath. He looped his arm across Xander's throat and chest. Squeezed.

 

"Stop!" He shouted. And his will flowed out, over all of them in the room. Xander struggled, then went limp, scratched a bit, then stopped. Doyle stood, where Angel had not seen him, at the base of the stairs, having run down them, rather than try the jump Angel had made. He froze, stock still, eyes locked on the vampire, mouth open, gasping.

 

Spike and Alistair stopped fighting, standing, in each other's grip, unmoving. Balthazar sat on the floor, staring up at Angel's face, his eyes, dark, burning pits. Wesley was panting in the doorway of the office, holding on to the frame to stay on his feet, his gaze finding Balthazar and staying on the seated vampire.

 

Riley and Graham were kneeling next to the human laying sprawled on the floor, Graham's hand resting on the man's arm, Riley, not touching him. The unknown werewolf was rigid, upright, white as a sheet, swaying. He looked sick. Verging on collapse.

 

Spike let out a grunt, and took a step, jaw knotted. Then another, fighting Angel's order, struggling, making it to the red-head's side just before he fell, catching him. Angel was seriously impressed that Spike could move. That would make the boy on the floor and the werewolf his Childe's thralls with absolute surety. He scented the air. Yep. No mistaking it. His Childe had *two* thralls. Interesting. Now, Spike wasn't a weak vampire, and he was tenacious, but he could not have made thralls. No doubt, more of the meddling of Walsh. The woman was a menace.

 

"Graham, Riley." Angel said. "Move away from the thrall. It will only agitate Spike if you stay near him when he is hurt. Or," He sniffed, "drugged. I can hear his heart, and his breathing, he will be well." Angel was pleased when his thralls stood and obeyed him without any hesitation. Good, last thing this volatile situation needed was a bit of defiance. And it would escalate again into full fledged physical conflict.

 

Angel's thralls obeyed him, moving close to his side. Xander squirmed a bit, growled half-heartedly. Angel kept a good grip on him. Stroked a hand through his rough fur. Spoke low, to the were-animal. "You, my beauty, have reached the point of no return. You must be claimed. Your defiance of me must end." Angel petted Xander again. The hyena stared at him, rapt. Then licked his hand.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

"Alistair." The blond vampire lifted his eerie gaze to Angel's. His hair was tumbled loose around his face, having fallen from the clasps that usually held it. "You and Balthazar will maintain order. No fighting unless it can not be avoided. I have seen enough of it for one day. We should save it for others, not for those who are mine. This..." Angel pointed to the platinum haired vampire, "..is *my* Childe, William. He prefers to be called Spike now." Angel indicated the werewolf and the slumbering man. "These two, are his thralls. You will not touch the thralls without his permission." Then he clarified his order. "His thralls, his permission. My thralls, my permission."

 

Angel turned to Spike. "And you, no more fighting, either. This is my home, these are my people. I want them to remain healthy and able to serve. Take a room on the third floor. I will speak to you later. There is something I need to take care of. I will be very unhappy if I am disturbed." Angel let them all see his expression and see how serious he was.

 

Spike frowned. It was better than he thought it would be. He knew it would be tough getting to see his Sire. But really, a quick scrap and he was in. Not bad. He grinned, one of his more devilish ones. "Whatever you say, Peaches." Angel let his Childe get away with the small act of defiance. He had missed Spike in some ways since they had parted company. But, not in all ways.

 

"William, I would be pleased if you call me by the name I have chosen to use. Call me Angel. Out of respect for your Sire, hmmm?" Angel waited for Spike's nod. Then he spun to head up the stairs with his own thralls, Xander tucked under his arm. Only to find Doyle in front of him.

 

"Angel!" It was Wesley, on his knees next to Balthazar, who was studiuously ignoring him. "Please, Angel." The former watcher begged. The vampire sighed.

 

"Balthazar. You may speak to him, politely. Nothing more." Angel then refocused his attention on the next person he needed to deal with. The dark haired, half-demon. His friend. Green eyes met his.

 

Doyle took a step forward. His own expression bordering on desperation. Angel met his gaze. They looked hard into each other's eyes. Doyle's urgency was easy for Angel to see, and hard for him to dismiss. He almost gave in, almost told Doyle to come up with him, and talk, until Xander started struggling again, trying to get loose. Angel shook his head. He had no choice, this had been put off too long already.

 

"No, Doyle. I must to this first. Then we will talk." He turned and carried Xander up the stairs. Graham and Riley followed. They were getting used to this particular kind of exit. Doyle watched them go, fisted knotted at his sides, his heart aching.


	26. Chapter 26

  
Author's notes: Solving Xander.   


* * *

Angel carried Xander up the stairs three floors, and into the room, keeping a firm hold on him. The hyena was still, not fighting it, letting Angel hold him close. The unnatural heat of his body was another temptation to the vampire. It sank into his cool skin through his clothes, whetting his appetite for more closeness, though he'd prefer it with more nakedness. It seemed a little too easy, and Angel was ready for the trouble when it came.

 

Xander was fine until he saw the bed, then he exploded into snapping fangs, raking claws and screaming howls. Angel immediately dropped him on the floor, avoiding the slashing swipes. Sat on him, holding the flashing, lethal claws away from his own body.

 

"Close the door." Angel said to Graham and Riley who were standing in the open doorway, Riley gaping, shocked by the abrupt change from the complacent, nuzzling were-Xander to a wild, powerfully built beast attacking the vampire holding him. They stepped inside, closed the door, stopped and stared for a while longer, not coming any closer to the heaving, snarling were-hyena and the vampire sitting on top of him, pinning him down.

 

Angel ignored his fully human thralls after shooting a look at the bed, making it clear he wanted them over there and out of the way. They made their way along the wall and to the bed, climbing up, then sat down to observe the drama taking place on the carpet.

 

"Xander." He leaned down, Xander snapped his jaws, the teeth clicking shut so close to Angel's face he felt the breeze from it. He resisted the impulse to let go and pull away. Xander, he knew, if freed, would be out of the room like a streak.

 

"Xander!" The next was a shout. "Stop, and listen to me." He used the voice that the thrall had to listen to. And his thrall quieted, but shook like a leaf under him.Let out a pitiful whine. Angel put his mouth next to Xander's ear, his lips brushed over the coarse black, yellow and brown fur. "I am not going to hurt you now. You must listen to me, Mine Own. Until I take you to the bed, we are going to talk, not fuck. I will not take you, here on the floor."

 

Xander whined louder, more urgently, his back legs kicking out, not hitting anything, more squirming in distress than fighting. His furred face was desperate, his dark yellow eyes roaming looking for a way to escape, but he wasn't still trying to bite Angel. Angel spoke to him again.

 

"I need you to be human for this. I need you to understand me on levels your hyena spirit can not. Change for me." Angel said, forcing Xander to meet his eyes. Xander strained against the hold, then suddenly seemed to give up. He was, just as suddenly, Xander the man.

 

Xander let out a whimper, trembling. Angel took a chance and freed one hand to run it along the side of the young man's cheek, his thumb caressing the full lower lip. "I have lived a long time, Xander. I know there is something in your past that makes you fear me and what we will do together. We will do it, there is no way we can not. The will to resist is not enough to keep us apart. Your fear is not enough. We are master and thrall. We must meet on all fields." Xander made no reply, just stared up with fear filled brown eyes.

 

"So, I am going to take a guess here, that you were abused. That you were young and couldn't stop it. That you never told anyone, and never had any help for it. This situation, with me and you, is almost the same in many ways to what happened before, isn't it? It reminds you of then, and I remind you of him." Angel said softly. But, Xander started shaking his head. He turned his head so he wasn't looking at the vampire any more.

 

"No."Xander whispered, in a choked voice. "You aren't the same. You aren't the same." Like a mantra. "You aren't the same."

 

Angel took the unexpected opening, grabbing at it. "Then why are you afraid? If I don't remind you of him? You have seen how I am with Graham and Riley. They are mine as you are, and I have not harmed them."

 

"Them." Xander said. "There were three of them." His eyes filled with stinging tears.

 

Angel ground his teeth. Clamping his mouth shut to keep in the hot words that wanted to get out. He forced himself to stay calm. Forced himself not to go all gameface.

 

"Oh, Ghod." Riley said from the bed, voice none too steady. Innocent, a boy scout, was Riley Finn, Angel thought. Graham reached out and put a hand on his friend's arm.

 

"I am sorry, Xander. I can't take that from you, not the memory, but I can tell you, it will not be the same with me. Tell me how they hurt you, and I will make it as different as possible. But, Xan, it has to happen, and now. It is necessary. Do you understand?" Angel said.

 

"Yes." Xander's voice was tiny. Yet even as he answered in the affirmative, he was shaking his head, side to side as if saying no with his body while his mouth said yes.

 

"Did you know them? Or were they strangers?" Angel prompted the young man. He eased off of him, sitting next to him, keeping Xander close to him, wrapping an arm stronger than steel around the narrow waist. Xander's chest was heaving like a bellows.

 

"My father's friends, and his boss. He, he didn't believe me when I tried to tell him. He told me to stop lying, he let them come back, they did it again..." Xander wailed. Angel held him, stroked at his hair.

 

Well. That was all the information Angel needed for later. There were people who could find out their names and where the child rapists were now. And they could be quietly, as well as permanently taken care of. Men like that, with those kinds of tastes, they didn't change. They would still have their urges, and still be taking care of feeding them. Angel would see that it stopped. In fact he was rather looking forward to that.

 

"How old were you Xander?" He asked, gently, turning his hold on the young man into a cuddling, comforting embrace. Pulling Xander into his lap. They sat there, on the floor, while Xander tried to reply, swallowing the lump in his throat twice, before managing to croak out an answer.

 

"I was twelve." Angel closed his eyes against the surge of grief and undiluted rage filling him.

 

"Did you tell anyone besides your father?" Angel's tone was neutral, inviting more confidences. Not letting the fury he felt color his words.

 

"My mother, and Willow." The voice was not that of a young man, it was childlike, uncertain, meek. Angel dropped a chaste kiss on the bowed head.

 

"Thank you for telling me. What did they say?" He encouraged.

 

"Mom told me I had to stay quiet, not make up things like that for attention. That the neighbors would lose respect for my father, that he would lose his job if the word got out what I had done. And if Dad lost his job, we'd not have the money for a house. We'd have to leave, and live somewhere else. In the slums, where people without jobs lived. And I couldn't go to school with my friends any more." Xander was shaking.

 

"And Willow? What did she say?" Angel lifted a hand towards the bed, and Graham, somehow knowing, tossed him a coverlet. The vampire wrapped it snuggly around Xander. A further shield from the ice-cold memories.

 

"Willow wasn't even sure what I was talking about. She was always smart, but she was...very young. A lot younger like that than I was, and I was not precocious, myself. She didn't know what sex was, not even between a man and a woman. She couldn't understand what I was trying to tell her. So, in the end I told her I got beat up. And we left it at that."

 

"And now you have told me. So, you want to know what I will do? Or do you want me to just do what I have to?" The vampire asked. Rocking the crying boy.

 

Xander seemed to know he was not talking about sex this time. He shook his head. "I don't want to know." He whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. Angel accepted that.

 

"You know, though, that I will take care of it, right Xander? Now. Tell me how they hurt you. tell me all about it."

 

Xander did, starting slowly. And letting all the bottled terror and horror of the experience come out in a rush of agony and words. Angel, and the two thralls on the bed listened to him, not interrupting as he spoke.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Nicholas groaned. Rolling with aching slowness onto his side. "I feel like shit!" He said. Even his hair hurt, if it came down to that. He ribbed cautiously at his face. Everything seemed to be in place. He tried to sit up, sank back onto the mattress with a moan of pain.

 

"Shhhhh." Spike hissed at him, holding up a hand. His ear pressed against the wall. "I can't hear them if you talk."

 

Oz hurried over to the bed from the bathroom. The bath had been just what he needed to soak away the tenderness in his muscles from the scuffle. He couldn't call it a real fight, it had been too short, and very intense. He was happy that he was a werewolf and that he healed extraordinarily fast.

 

"Hey, Nicholas. I have just the thing for you. Come on." Oz heaved the young soldier up onto his feet, and led him towards the en suite bathroom. Nicholas felt too badly to protest, he used his free hand to hold his head on top of his shoulders. Oz told him, "You could use a bath."

 

"Shower," Nickolas said in return. "I don't like baths."

 

"Today, I think, you will have to make do with one. For therapeutic reasons." Oz insisted. "Much better for sore muscles." Spike hissed sharply at them both.

 

"Quiet." He said. Not moving away from the wall, entirely caught up in the tale of Xander's trauma. It was bloody awful. Spike let a smile, and not a pretty one spread over his face when he heard Angel assure Xander that appropriate action would be forthcoming. Good old Peaches, his Sire. He always got the job done, he did. Xander's assailants were living on borrowed time.

 

"You are listening to them." Oz said, stating the obvious, and adding more. "Maybe you shouldn't." Then he disappeared into the bathroom with Nicholas in tow. Not waiting to hear his vampire's response. Just wanting to put the idea in Spike's mind that maybe the others should be granted some privacy. Spike smirked, knowing exactly what Oz was up to. But, he was new here, and he needed to know what was going on. He had been blindsided by the fact that Angel had thralls he knew. The conspiracy was larger than he'd thought.

 

"Why do you think I chose this room?" He said to himself, ear pressed firmly to the wall between his suite and Angel's. He listened to it all.


	27. Chapter 27

  
Author's notes: Xander....solved.  


* * *

Angel brushed a lock of Xander's dark brown hair away from his tear wet eyes. "There, that is all of it. Thank you for telling me. It will get better now. I promise you." He murmured against the back of Xander's neck, tasting the salt lingering there. He allowed himself one more thought of how he would address the problem of the men who had touched his defenseless thrall, then refocused on the present, and on the trembling Xander. He held him, loosely, so as not to spook him. Inhaled the potent scent of the blood-mark. Ruffled the fine hair at the nape of his neck. His. Angel let his eyes wander to the bed as he let a faint, possessive smile grace his lips. They were all his.

 

Graham reached down and half stroked Riley's hair. The taller man was laying, head in Graham's lap, the legs of Graham's pants soaked with his tears, and from his runny nose. Riley kept sniffling. And Graham let him. He'd had worse than snot on his jeans, and on his skin. Probably had eaten something worse too, at one time or another.

 

Angel gathered Xander closer, holding the big body near, enjoying the feel of life, the alluring sing of blood through the young man's veins. The quiver of muscle and nerves, the rasp of anxious air in and out of his lungs. He held him, arms wrapped fully around him. Held him and waited.

 

Graham knew he wasn't good at this warm and cuddly thing, he let his hand rest on Riley's hair. Not with girls, and not with guys. He could tell when it was needed, and he could give it, he just wasn't too good at it. Might have been something to do with why he'd been a virgin so long. Touching people was hard. Touching them right was even harder. So, he'd not done it much. Until now. Now he was touching Riley. Trying to make him feel better. Trying to think about what Xander had said, all the crap that had come pouring out from the memory of a twelve year old.

 

Lucky for Xander he had Angel, Graham thought, observing the two on the rug, Xander huddled in the coverlet. 'Cause Graham didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to say about what had happened. It had never bothered Graham that he was a virgin so long, there were far worse things to be, like a kid who had been raped.

 

Riley was just crying, silent and pained, he was sensitive was Riley. He cared a lot. He had a hard time not showing that he cared. But Xander needed strength and caring and reassurance now, he needed more than sympathetic tears. Angel was giving him that, being big and strong and protective all at once, father, brother, lover, protector. Graham for his part was trying to help calm Riley, who was as upset as their fellow thrall over the re-telling.

 

Finally, Angel lifted Xander in his arms, rose easily, and carried him towards the bed, with a long, smooth stride. Graham nudged Riley to get him to move a bit, making room. Angel put his thrall down gently and crawled up next to him. Xander stiffened, his expression going wary. Remembering what Angel had said about the bed and sex. He measured the route to the outer door.

 

"It is time." Angel said. Not grabbing the young man, not restraining him. Just talking to him. Letting him make the decision to stay where he was, not to run. Caressing the side of Xander's face with the backs of his fingers. "You know this."

 

Xander didn't answer. He also didn't try to get away. Which was progress of a sort. Angel undressed himself, down to his skin, pale and shimmering, going to his knees on the covers, then easing over, and laying on his back. He tucked a pillow under his head, watching Xander watch him, then held out an arm to Xander. "Come, lay with me. Warm me with your heat." Xander warily obeyed.

 

"I won't hurt you." Angel said as he lifted away one corner of the coverlet he had bundled Xander into when they were sitting on the carpet. Carefully Angel kissed the bit of shoulder that was revealed, tongued it, tasted it. Ran his hand over Xander's collarbone, tracing the curve of bone, down his arm, and to his hand, feeling the tension, and the tremor. Grasping Xander's hand, and giving it a squeeze. Then he moved to open the covering all down the front, so Xander was naked, pressed to the front of his body, but covered from the eyes of the others.

 

"Come, Xan. I know you have kissed before, come kiss me." Angel purred, lifting his chin up towards the man who was laying stiffly on top of him. Angel ran his hand inside the coccooning blanket, up the strong and lean sides, over the muscles Xander hadn't had the last time Angel had seen him in Sunnydale. In the time he had known him, Xander had gone from slender teenager to burly, young man. Feeling the goose-bumped reaction. "Come Xan. I am here, waiting for you. Feel the blood calling. Kiss me. They never kissed you. Change the memory now, kiss me. The blood calls for you and me, not for anyone in your past."

 

Xander hesitated, then leaned in, brushing closed lips over the vampire's cool mouth. Angel let his eyes drift shut. He lay, waiting. Feeling the rush of excitement when, after a pause, he felt the fleeting touch of of the mouth again, pressing. He let his lips part, waiting for Xander to respond, to take the bait.

 

It was automatic, the exploration deepening, Xander canting his head, fitting their mouths together. His hot tongue slipping with slow precision into the sensual coolness of the vampire's mouth. Angel accepting, receiving the kiss as his due, sucking tenderly, lovingly on the small, mobile bit of Xander he had inside of him. Nipping with careful teeth, giving in to the vampiric instinct to bite living flesh, the sting adding spice, drawing forth a gasp of reaction, and a deepening, feeding kiss. Celebrating the tiny explosion of coppery blood, savoring the crimson tang.

 

Xander liked it, he pressed closer, opening wider, delving further, he scooted up, straddling his legs, sitting on top of Angel's hips. Silky wetness sliding along silky wetness as their tongues danced. Lapping over the sweet heat of Xander's lips as Xander bit at Angel's mouth in turn, catching his lips, worrying at them hungrily.

 

Angel sighed his contentment, Xander responding with a low growl. "Yes, Mine Own." He whispered. Lifting his legs, so the front of his thighs cradled the back of Xander's, Xander's buttocks nestled hard and snug into the vampire's pelvis.

 

They kissed, long and slow, finding their way by increments. Xander lifting himself up, and transferring the weight of his body lower, sitting astride Angel more firmly, feeling the long, hard length, cooler than his own, tuck itself intimately between the globes of his ass, almost he pulled up and away, his arm, legs and body tensing hard, in preparation for springing away, and running. Angel held his breath, tracing Xander's back with feather-light caresses. Waiting. His tongue extended, teasing along the chin above his mouth.

 

Xander was ready, prepared to leap and run, but he looked down. To see Angel's hooded eyes. To linger over the parted lips, the passion driving the vampire to pant, to breathe. Xander drifted lower, and lower. He paused, licking at the soft skin, over Angel's face, over his mouth, down his chin and to his throat. Taking the pale flesh in his teeth, chewing without breaking skin. Then up, back up, to claim his mouth, to kiss, to suckle, and again to bite. Angel groaned. And Xander felt it, the stirring in his groin, deep behind his balls, tightening them.

 

"Xan. Now let me touch you." Angel purred, moved his hands down to the man's hips, feeling the heavy muscle, curved to fit his palms, to tempt the devil, or any demon. Bountiful. Angel held them for a moment, then ghosted his hands up Xander's wide back, massaging, digging into the firm flesh, bringing his hands around to rub the pads of his thumbs over the nubs of Xander's taut nipples. Urging the man, his thrall, up higher, rising, until he could take one of the brown bits into his mouth, and nurse the flesh into diamond hardness.

 

Xander made a noise, a deep rumble, fingers lacing in the thick, dark strands of Angel's hair, holding his face to his chest, making him continue, making him suck and feed there. Sharp, stinging, and Xander let out a gasp, feeling the shock tear through him, a streak of lightning, to his groin, and his cock, hard, straight, engorged, bobbing, as Angel fed from him, suckling at his newly pierced nipple. At the thrall rich blood.

 

Each draw was stronger than the first, each tore through his nerves like fire, he groaned, he writhed, rubbing his erection against the vampire's flat belly. Reveled in the feel of skin and the light sprinkling of hair across the head and shaft of his penis, erotic scraping of their erections together, side by side. Dark hair meshing with dark hair. Angel arching up, moaning his encouragement, the sound, passion rough.

 

Xander felt the coolness, the slick fingers, but distantly, in a dream. Angel pressed in, letting Xander's body draw him deep, letting the lust and arousal do it's work and make this painless. Heat surrounded him, he wanted it, wanted Xander mounted on him and squirming, panting, riding him. Wild, his beast set free. He moved on to two, long fingers, strecthing, slipping them into Xander, sucking on the hot little nub in his mouth, taking small draughts of blood with the sucking, charging the sensation of it through Xander's sweating body.

 

"Xander." Angel breathed the name, hand cupped over the plumpness of his thrall's swollen perineum. "Xander. I am ready. Take me into yourself, take me. Make me your lover. Xander."

 

Xander let himself be guided, moved, to wait spread and open, over Angel. Not pulling away, not resisting the touch of slick, cool, male flesh at his entrance. Hearing Angel's hiss, accepting his hands, one on either hip, accepting the infintesimal press, into him. The rock of fractions of an inch, in and out.

 

"No." Xander breathed, as he rocked back and down. "No." Pressing more, harder, further down, Angel still, unmoving, hands light on his hips, not forcing, not adding, not taking away, just watching as Xander moved himself, saying no, over and over. Angel looked up into the face hovering over him, at a loss.

 

"No." Xander said with certainty, taking in more of the hard shaft. "No." Angel's head dropped back at the feel. He shivered. Moaned. "No." Xander repeated.

 

Graham looked at Riley. What now? Xander was getting louder, the one word, over and over. His movements stronger. His body wanting this, his psyche refusing it. Graham moved, Riley behind him, going one to each side of the pair, staying down, lower than Xander. They looked, and saw...Xander's hands, changing, claws growing, extending, digging, penetrating the skin of Angel's shoulders. And Angel, taking it, taking the claws, not pulling away, not moving from under Xander, willing to take it if it was what Xander needed.

 

Graham moved close, wrapping an arm around Xander, watching to see how he would take this, seeing the dark eyes fly open, look at him, dilated, shocked, gaze dropping to Graham's mouth, then swooping over, surprising the other man, taking his mouth. Graham surrendered, let Xander kiss him, pull his tongue into his mouth, felt the rasp of inhuman sharp teeth, fangs in the other's mouth.

 

His heart leapt in his chest, fear, sharp and immediate, debating the wisdom of his action, but not, in the end pulling away. Blood coated claws leaving Angel's body, painting a trail over Graham's chin, his cheek, the lobe of his ear, and into his hair. Xander's strength, knotting fingers in his dark blond-brown hair. Sinking down with suddeness that none of them expected, taking all of the vampire inside of him, a rush of air puffing into Graham's mouth from Xander's. A gasping, sighing moan, pleasure, pain, shock, completion.

 

Xander's power bending his fellow thrall back, arching his body, holding him, with Graham not fighting, unable to fight. Riley's hands coming to gather Xander's attention, taking the full erection in his hand, his testicles, and as Xander moved, turned and looked, Graham panting for air.

 

Angel, moaning, faint, below normal hearing, a rumble more than a sound, Riley feeling it where his knee lay against the vampire's torso. Riley rising up on his knees, surrounding Xander, moving with him. At first without rhythm, then, the two of them, Xander pierced intimately, Riley not, Riley empty. The two of them moving, Xander riding Angel's body.

 

Angel rose, sitting, Xander in his lap, winding arms around Xander, his tender, fearful thrall, at last his, fully, pressing his cool face to the flexed curves of the man's chest, returning to the nipple, the dribble of red blood. His tongue cleaning the trail, each taste sending the surge of desire higher, his need growing, using his arms to gain the leverage to drive himself deeper. To pull out, to enter him again, long, slow, and hard.

 

Graham slid his arms around the two of them, Angel and Xander, moving behind Angel, supporting him, his face pressed to cool flesh, his chest slowing a bit, as he regained his breath.

 

Xander's eyes rolled up, shivering, his body rising and falling, the length of the vampire inside of him, sheathed in his channel, no pain, no terror, no force, only heat, friction, desire, burning in him. Riley murmuring, Riley crying, and the crying wasn't wrong. The tears weren't wrong, they fit, like Angel fit, like Graham fit. Xander leaned back, harder, harder, further, pulling Angel with him. Angel rising, unwilling to lose the connection, his place, until it was Xander on his back, widespread, Angel bewteen his legs, Angel thrusting into him. Dominant Angel. Vampire Angel. The master. His master, Xander's. His by right. Blood-right.

 

"Yes." Xander breathed into the sighs, the moans and the expectant moment. "Yes."

 

Angel thrust, lifting Xander's hips with the force of it, striking deep. Hitting something. Oh Ghod. Oh, *ghod*. Crystal fracturing, sparkling sensation, Xander moaning, holding the backs of his knees, holding his legs, open, wider, asking with his body, and Angel answering, pushing into him, over and over.

 

Angel, raised up on his rigid arms, sprinkled with blood and sweat, looking down, into the dark unseeing eyes, hearing the sounds, seeing the offered curve of his neck. Leaning in and biting. Hard, his teeth sliding in, his cock plumbing deep, Xander wrapping around him, screaming in his ear. Ghod. Harder. Harder. Brittle edge coming up fast. Oh, fuck.

 

It washed over him, over them. They thrashed, cried out, sobbed, Angel falling back from Xander's neck, fangs slipping out, blood washing down his chin. Xander tensing around him, still for a long, impossible second of anticipation, then his body convulsing, squeezing, Xander taking Angel with him, screaming, wordless, endless, darkness.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Doyle sat outside the door to Angel's suite not missing a thing. He drew his legs up, his feet flat on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, then over his ears. His eyes screwed shut, as he listened, heard.

 

Shaking. No. Oh, no. He understood. Understood it all. He shoved a hand into his own mouth to stifle his cry. Scrubbed at the tears streaming down his face.

 

It could not be. But. It was.


	28. Chapter 28

  
Author's notes: Spike listens, Lorne and Fred return, and a meeting...almost begins.   


* * *

Spike leaned back against the wall.

 

Christ, but his poof of a Sire could fuck! That wasn't what he'd expected at all. He was kind of sorry he'd never found out for himself, but when he'd been with Angel, he'd very quickly become obsessed with a dark haired, mad visionary, named Drusilla. And Dru, well Dru was distracting. And time consuming. And Spike was very quickly interested in nothing else. He shook his head at the memory.

 

He looked over at the bed. Who'd a thunk he'd be here, now, back with his Sire, and with two thralls in tow? Little William the Bloody Childe. He certainly had been taken off guard by the twists of fate. But, now that he was here....he looked again over at the bed, seeing Nicholas sprawled bonelessly asleep on top of the covers, an arm trailing off one edge. Now that he was here...he was going to make the best of it.

 

One thing that was clear. His future was tied in with his thralls, and how tightly he could bind them all together would determine how strong he was. How strong he was would in turn determine how he, and they, survived this little blip in his life.

 

Angel was part of a blood circle. Three thralls, all bound to him now. Willing or more likely unwilling, Angel was in the midst of forming a court, the first American one ever. There were strange vampires here, and Angel would never have tolerated vampires who were not of his blood before. Not residing in his own house. But they were here, Angel was tolerating them, in fact he was ruling and controlling them. They were his followers. Bloody unbelievable.

 

He was about to get up and go to the bed, to Nicholas who was looking all warm and tempting, when he heard another sound. Three strides took him to the door, he cracked it open, waited, listening, then with a sigh opened it fully. The dark haired Irish bloke was sitting outside Angel's suite. Hunched up, and miserable as could be by the looks of it. Spike shook his head. They were all mental around this place.

 

Spike stepped out into the hall. The curled up ball of Irish melancholy kept right on crying. Not noticing he wasn't alone. Against his better judgment, which was screaming at him to leave the man alone, Spike knelt down next to him and put out a hand. He touched the man, tentatively, ready to leap back if attacked.

 

What he didn't expect was the scream of startled rage and the man turning into a...a green, black spiked demon and swinging two fists bristling with six inch talons at him. Springing at him with a growling snarl. Almost catching him across the face with those bloody long nails. They tumbled together, Irish howling, enraged, in pain, anguish. And who, Spike suddenly realized, was as much an eaves-dropper as himself. Well, that put a new spin on it. He struggled to keep from being perforated, not really wanting anyone to get hurt. Especially not himself.

 

Doyle was a good scrapper, Spike gave him that, he didn't get to find out which of them was the better, because quick as it began, it was over, with the demon scrambling for the stairs and down, like a scalded cat. Spike was left dumbfounded, blinking, which was why he didn't hear and comprehend the sound of locks disengaging until it was too late.

 

"Sodding hell!" He muttered, scooting towards the door to his suite even as the door to Angel's opened, revealing Angel in all his very naked glory. Angel who was looking pretty upset at being disturbed. Spike froze where he was. He did not want to lure the older vampire into his rooms, where his thralls were. Nope. He preferred Angel stay the hell away from them. Even if it meant Spike had to stay out here and take his medicine for getting caught, apparently snooping.

 

"Listening at keyholes?" Angel growled, dark eyes ominously flat as he eyed his Childe, with eyes more predatory than they had ever been. Spike swallowed. Yes, his Sire had changed.

 

"Don't have to now, do I?" Spike managed to shoot back, jerking his head towards the open door to his own rooms. It took Angel less than a second to figure that clue out. And to Spike's relief he smiled, then laughed, throwing his head back.

 

"You're still a filthy bugger, William." Angel said, affectionately. Then he stopped lifting his head sniffing. "Doyle..." His eyes, fixed on Spike, going ice cold again. Spike held up his hands.

 

"Not me. He was here," Spike pointed at the carpeted hall at Angel's feet. "I stepped out, he went wonky, we tangled for less than ten seconds, then he took off." He waved his arm, "Down the stairs."

 

Angel stepped up and looked over the rails. More than one figure was down there, none of them were Doyle. Like two opposites, Balthazar and Alistair were side by side, light and dark, Wesley behind the dusky vamp, looking into the office as Lorne and...someone else, went inside. Angel heard voices. Urgent, soothing, panicked, conciliatory...he went for the stairs. He didn't want to jump all that way again, not without a good reason, the landing was a doozy. He unconsciously flexed his toes.

 

"Master!" A quiet call, by a soft voice. Spike and Angel both turned, Spike tearing his eyes away from his Sire's naked body, to light on the shortest of Angel's thralls, carrying a bundle of dark silk. Grey eyes intent on his master's face. Keeping Angel between himself and Spike. Smart, Spike granted that. But that wasn't his greatest asset.

 

"Christ on a crutch," Spike muttered under his breath. The thrall was as naked as the day he was born, his thighs, the cut of his hip, enough to bring a grown man to his knees. The man turned, and Spike bit his lip....with a bum that would drive a saint to weeping.

 

Spike swallowed hard, Angel would rip his head off for just thinking that. The human held out the long robe. Angel put out his arms wordlessly, and let the thrall wrap him in lush, gold lined, black silk, falling to his ankles, and knot the tie before Angel headed down the stairs, looking like an old world king. Mussed and fluffed, but clearly a king.

 

Xander came out of the room, with Buffy's old squeeze, Riley, Spike showed him his fangs, but managed not to audibly growl. That one was a sick pup. Paying vamps in Sunnyhell to bite him....Riley didn't even look at him, just handed the short one with the fantastic body another robe, one made of plainer stuff, white toweling. Perfect to set off that tan. Riley stood by for the one moment that it took for his friend to dress.

 

Then the thralls, one, two and three, went racing down after their master. "Little piggies in a row," thought Spike as he watched them trailing along. Then a movement caught his eye. Oz, wrapped in a green towel, another brown one around his head, peeking into the hall. Spike smiled at the intimacy of the look, it was too cute. He now got to see his own thrall in all states of undress. And, he wouldn't trade Oz for any of the poof's boys, not even the pretty one.

 

He was at Oz's side in less than a second, lifting the werewolf and carrying him back into the suite, kicking the door shut. He took him right over to the bed, tumbling the two of them onto it, next to Nicholas, who mumbled something incoherent. His wash up apparently not doing him much good, as far as waking him up went.

 

The memory of Angel's coupling still ringing in his ears, and the vision of the naked, pretty one directed all of Spike's action for the next few minutes. He lay on top of his first thrall. Felt the warmth of the lycanthrope's body sink into his cooler one. Oz accommodatingly opening his legs and letting Spike snuggle between them, up close and personal. Oz's eyes widened a bit, blinking up into the deep blue of the vampire's. Spike smiled down at him.

 

"Uh. Not sure what I should be expecting here." Oz said, with quiet calm. As Spike buried his nose in the warm, slightly damp skin at Oz's throat. He felt the pulse surge against his lips. He lifted his head before he gave in to the need to sink in his teeth.

 

"Nothing much, love. Just a bit of a snog." Spike said back, laughing at the expression of bewilderment. "You Yanks call it kissing." He clarified, and Oz's expression cleared.

 

"Oh, right." He lifted his chin. "Snog away." Spike fought it, but in the end he had to give in, he giggled.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel walked into the office, Balthazar and Alistair behind him, and his thralls further back. Lorne looked up at their entrance. Doyle was sitting, huddled in the desk chair, looking small and weak and vulnerable, that despite his being in his prickly demon form. Lorne was next to him, looming over him, one of his large, very green hands on the other demon's back. At the vampire's entrance. Lorne straightened.

 

Fred let out a squeal, running over to Angel, evading the grab Lorne made for her. Throwing her arms around the vampire's waist. Angel returned the embrace. Held the small, fragile boned woman close. Lorne watched him with cautious eyes.

 

"Hello, Fred." Angel said. "It is good to have you home." Angel let Lorne see his expression as he met the other's gaze. Lorne lowered his hand. Angel let his own face relax. "Why have you come back?" Angel whispered, directing his question to Lorne.

 

"She wanted to come home." The Host said. He looked over Angel's shoulder. "Hi, guys." Then back at Angel. "There are things that the others want to talk about. Rule and control issues. I have to say, sweetie, you have upset more than one apple cart. I am here to hear your side of it. As the representative of combined demons' interest."

 

Angel nodded. Then looked at Doyle, who hadn't moved. He wanted to tell everyone to leave him with the half demon so they could talk. He also knew he couldn't. Not now. "I expected this. Let's talk." Angel said to Lorne. He kept his arm around Fred.

 

"But, not here. Upstairs. Wes could you....?"

 

"Of course Angel. I'll be up in a moment." The Englishman disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

 

"Lorne, you know the way. Doyle..if you are up to joining us?" Angel waited for the small nod. "I will be with you in a moment." He hugged her again, and let Fred go. Then headed up to the conference room.

 

Spike forced himself not to carry this to it's obvious and much desired conclusion. He sat up leaving Oz dazed and panting on the bed. "Rest a bit, precious. I'll be back in a flash."

 

He needed to find out what was going on with the visitors. He adjusted his hard on to be a little less conspicous as he walked to the door, poking his head out in time to see Angel and his thralls enter the big room at the end of the hall. Followed by the blond vampire who had tackled him, and the dark one with whom he had fought. Uptight wanker.

 

Behind them came the short pale skinned humanoid...Doyle, head hanging, looking as dejected as was possible. One step behind him was a tall, green demon and a tiny human girl, tucked snuggly under one arm. The elevator opened smoothly, with a soft chime, and out came Wesley, wheeling a heavy, brimming tea cart. Spike perked up. He hadn't had a proper tea in years. He stepped out in the hall, and shut the door behind him. No time like the present.

 

Spike sauntered down the hall and stopped in the doorway to the room. Large. Open. Lots of couches and chairs. Wesley pouring, plenty of cups for one more, Spike saw with satisfaction.

 

Happily he stepped into the room, Angel and the vampires seeing him immediately, but not reacting much. He walked up behind Wes who was handing a cup to the green demon.

 

"Got enough for me? I could use a good cuppa." Spike said, not overly loud or with the intent to frighten anyone. But Wesley let out a shriek of surprise and dumped the cup in the green one's lap. The demon leapt to his feet, and jumped back, his steaming trousers soaked through. The little human girl went flying, and landed in Doyle's lap. He was shocked out of his stupor, grabbing for her to steady her, missing by a mile, and she tumbled over his legs to land on top of the cart. Which promptly overbalanced, and fell onto it's side. China, tea and biscuits flying off. All of it landing on or around Angel's bare feet and ankles.

 

Spike stood immobile, blinking at the mini disaster as it unfolded all around him. Wesley had a hand to his chest, panting. Staring at Spike as if he was the second coming, and not much welcome at that. Spike for his own part was undecided whether to cry over the spilt tea or to burst out laughing. He settled for shaking his head in disbelief.

 

Spike shook his head, wonderingly. "What is it with you people?"


	29. Chapter 29

  
Author's notes: A meeting with Lorne, and Wes coners Balthazar.  


* * *

small or tight, or way short. Xander's would have been too large, though still too short, the hyena-boy was packing some serious muscle. Lorne drew the line at fatigues, khakis and jeans. He never wore them. Angel had no penchant for color, so Lorne was wearing black in a very nice lightweight wool. The black pants were not a bad match at all with his pale blue suit jacket, and darker blue shirt. The red tie didn't even clash. He let his finger's wander over the soft fabric. It even felt expensive. Very nice.

 

Spike was seated nearby, Lorne watched Angel's Childe, while Wesley wheeled the newly laden cart in. In contrast to all the other vampires of his acquaintance, the platinum haired one seem to actually be salivating over the prospect of having his taste of tea. He thanked Wes with sincerity, and lifted the delicate cup to his lips, sipping, eyes drifting shut in what could only be bliss. He didn't even hear Angel calling him. Lorne found it...fascinating. Angel cleared his throat, and Lorne was sure he saw a tiny smile, a mere crook of the older vampire's mouth, a smile of patient indulgence.

 

"William." Angel said. Looking like an old time potentate, surrounded by his harem of lovelies. Graham on the arm of the wide chair. Xander on the other side, shirtless, his muscles flexing, Riley sitting cross-legged, napkin in hand as he dried the vampire's feet. Angel's long, pale, bare feet catching the attention of nearly everyone in the room while Riley worked on them.

 

"Childe." Spike sipped again, sighed. A smile of his own stealing over his face. Riley finished and set Angel's foot down. Angel lifted it and set it, dry now, in his thrall's lap. Riley covered it with the open napkin, then his hand, flushing.

 

"Spike." Angel raised his voice. At last the other vampire was startled out of his reverie, blinking.

 

"Enjoying your tea?" Angel asked, an edge to his words. He beckoned the other to come to him. With obvious reluctance Spike did. Angel held out his hand, a drop of blood trembling on the tip of one finger, full, pregnant, ready to fall. And suddenly Spike was not as all reluctant. He shot a glance at his Sire, as he moved his cup under the precious drop. He counted the drops as they fell. Three. Six. Angel nodded at him, and Spike returned to his seat cradling the cup as it it were the elixir of eternal life. Doyle looked away. Lorne put his arm back around Fred's narrow shoulders. The undercurrents here didn't seem to make their way into her awareness. Lorne was grateful.

 

Wesley moved the cart, filled the other cups in front of Angel, pouring then holding them out to the vampire for his donation of blood. That went along for the thralls, who all reached for the cups without any hesitation, Xander with open eagerness, and for the other two vampires. Each vampire reaching with blatant hunger for the cups carried over to them. The vampires actually rising to their feet to accept the tea, the black and the green eyes shining.

 

Lorne was relieved to see that he was given tea without the extras. He wasn't at all sure he would have had the will to decline the blood tea. He had had it before. A long time ago. He still remembered it. But he was given plain tea. As were Fred, and Doyle. Lorne also accepted the plate with the sweet biscuits on it. They were very good he decided, letting one melt on his tongue as he waited for everyone to be served. Doyle drew his feet up onto the couch, huddling in the corner, eyes staring out into mid air, at nothing. Lorne frowned. He was worried about his friend.

 

At last Wesley poured his own cup, squeezed in a bit of lemon and sat on the edge of a chair. He glanced up at Angel, then his eyes wandered against his will towards the dark vampire who sat perfectly correct, upright in his own chair, fighting to raise his tea to his lips and sip at it, rather than gulping it down. The black eyes never looked in the human's direction. Lorne felt the connection between them as clearly as if they were touching one another.

 

Doyle looked unhappily into his cup. Angel watched him as he took a disinterested sip of his tea. Always pale, Doyle was now white, even the normal pink of his lips gone. Angel saw the trembling hand, the averted gaze. Then he turned to Lorne.

 

"Tell me what the others are saying." Angel started in. Voice deceptively lazy, with nothing more than a mild curiosity to remark on. Lorne was not surprised by that, Angel was a good politician when he had to be.

 

"They are upset that you have begun this without consulting any of them." Lorne answered honestly.

 

"This?" Angel smiled, mildly. But it was very apparent he wanted to laugh. Lorne felt the first stirring of unease. As if he was having a premonition, that this was not going to go as well as the others hoped. A show of force, of unity, and Angel would back down, things would return to normal. The new vamps would leave town. It wasn't that they were too many in number, it was that all the new ones were old, and powerful. And from all reports, loyal to Angel.

 

Lorne leaned forward. "We have many members from Europe and Asia who now choose to live here. They have told the rest of us more about the the old world courts. I have heard of them before, the subject is fascinating after all, so many rumors, who know what is true and what is false? I managed to weed out some of the more fantastic stories, discounting them as unreal, or unlikely, some as impossible to credit as true. Until now. Until I have seen and heard what is happening to you. This is like the vampire equivalent of the holy grail, Angel. It also has the potential to upset the balance of power in LA. So. We are concerned."

 

Angel toyed with a lock of Riley's hair, as the thrall sat somewhat self-consciously at his feet. The touch was welcome if the position was not, Lorne did not mistake that. Riley leaned into the fingers, a faint motion. Graham was silent, sitting on the arm of Angel's chair, robe closed all the way up to his neck, not an inch more of the brown skin on display than was necessary. Xander was licking his cup clean, having drained it quickly, his tongue just a little too long and agile for a human appendage. Mesmerizingly agile. Lorne shook his head away from that unconsciously erotic image.

 

"The blood circle is nothing I can stop." Angel said. His brown eyes level and honest. Meeting Lorne's. "Probably the most I can do is to limit it's scope, perhaps to LA, perhaps to Southern California. But, I can not stop it. It is now a matter of...instinct. You know this?" Angel asked.

 

Lorne nodded. "I was afraid of it. The others will not be happy. LA has been wide open for decades. Any one with balls could come in and set up shop here. Now, you are putting another hitch in business. When you came here, things changed. Now, you are restricting us further. Understandably, there are objections. Some stronger than others." Lorne smiled, not his usual sunny smile. Angel contemplated it even as he gestured to Wesley to refill Xander's well licked cup. Angel bit his finger, and let the blood run into the fresh tea, stirring it with his finger. Xander watched intently, with a patience Lorne had not expected.

 

Spike let out a small sound as he watched the display of favoritism. He'd not gotten that much blood the first time around. Then he shook his head. No. He was not going to fall into a rivalry with a human, were-hyena thrall for his Sire's attention. He was Angel's only Childe here. His place was, but ancient tradition, unassailable. It was not a good move on his part to covet Angel's thralls or what those thralls had of their master. Spike allowed himself another sip of the exquisite blood tea. His place was his alone. Spike looked away from Xander's cup.

 

Angel handed the cup to his thrall. Then held his finger out. Riley, after a serious blush, took the digit into his mouth. Licked it, sucked on it. Until Angel drew it away, healed. Then returned to stroking Riley's dark blond hair, as he continued discussing terms with Lorne.

 

"It isn't negotiable. I will tear LA to the ground if I have to. I will not be opposed." Angel said, calmly. "However, that is not my first goal, as long as things go smoothly, I will allow business to go on as usual."

 

"That is awfully high handed, Angel. Not like you at all." Lorne said back. Having a feeling that Angel was actually being generous rather than stubborn. But how would he be able to convince the others that was the case? There were always hot heads who would advocate a strike against Angel and his minions. A fatal mistake, in the large green demon's assessment. The longer he was in Angel's presence, the more he realized the vampire had changed.

 

"No. Well. I have been forced to this, Lorne, not by my choice, but it is what I am stuck with." Angel said. Letting his eyes sparkle vampire-golden. Letting Lorne look into them, see the difference, sense it more fully.

 

"Oh, shit." Lorne mouthed silently, Angel smiled and looked away, once he was sure Lorne had seen what he was supposed to see.

 

"Same old Sire." Spike said into the silence. "Always ending up in charge. Not even your own Sire could stay in control of you, huh, Peaches?"

 

"William." Angel purred, as Balthazar and Alistair turned to look at Angel. Cups halfway to their mouths, in unison, now frozen, unmoving. "Do you have a point?"

 

"Only that the demons in question should consider your track record before they discuss the possibility of moving against you. Us." Spike said, thinking that Xander had the right idea, as he looked into his empty cup. He raised it in Wesley's direction. "Any chance of a warm up?" He let his eyes drift over to Angel. "With the extras?"

 

Wesley looked over at Angel. Angel shrugged. Wesley poured.

 

Spike reached out, cradled the cup, inhaled the steam rising, the blood tea, the highest tea of all. Angel was up and across the room in an instant, Spike saw him coming, but damn, his Sire was fast. He would have looked like an inept idiot if he tried to react in time, before Angel reached him. So he stayed still. leaned back, gave Angel the advantage, not trying to take it himself..

 

Angel bent down, his scent filling Spike's nostrils. He shuddered, a full body tremor, almost dropping his cup. The blood tea was nothing, no where near as potent as the man himself. That frightened Spike more than anything so far. Vampires would do anything to be near this. The simple idea of maybe having more than just a taste....

 

The robe fell open, and the pale expanse of Angel's chest was revealed to the rest of the room. "Come on, William. Taste it. Or. Is there something else you'd rather have, Childe?" Spike got the message. He mimicked closing his mouth and zipping it shut. Lowering his eyes to his cup. Sipping. Ghod, it was good. His fangs extended, not just his feeding fangs, but all four. Angel stared at him.

 

"William. Go see to your thralls." It was a warning. Spike closed his mouth, bent his head, drank the remainder of his tea in two swallows, not letting anyone else in the room get a look into his mouth as he rose to his feet and left the room.

 

Angel turned. "That is all I have to say for now, Lorne. Talk to the others. Tell them I mean them no harm. I want things to go as smoothly as every one else does. Anything else is bad for business, and bad for LA." He held up his finger as he neared the larger demon. Lorne fought the urge to stand before Angel reached him. He lost the fight. It was overwhelming. He put his cup onto the table top. And with Angel right in front of him, he got to his feet. Looked down the two inch difference in their heights.

 

"I will pass on the message, Angel." He paused. "Are you sure this is the tone you want to set, sweetie?"

 

"I need to make it clear where I stand. Where I have to stand, Lorne." Angel waited until he was sure he had the whole attention of the green demon. He put his hands up to Lorne's shoulders. "There is only one way it can be. I will make it as bearable as I can. Tell them." He leaned in a fraction. Then took his hands away.

 

Lorne stood, dumbfounded. Battling to keep his eyes off the bare skin of Angel's chest. Angel wasn't like this. But. Lorne believed every word he said was true. "I'll tell them. What if they don't agree?"

 

"Then, they will die. Tell them to talk amongst themselves. Some of them must have lived under the old courts. Ask them. They will know. remind them of what a blood circle is. The reality, not just the rumor." Angel walked back to his chair. "That is all, Lorne. Go." He lowered himself into the chair.

 

"I need to be alone. Everyone out." Angel said, his expression returning to the familiar brooding one. Lorne left, though he had a thousand things he wanted to say, to ask, followed by everyone else, Doyle slower than the rest. Angel raised his voice.

 

"Doyle. Stay. It is past time we talked." Angel touched Graham. "You three, return to my rooms. I will be there soon." Xander frowned, and Angel glared at him. "Do not press me, thrall." Xander lowered his eyes, Riley and Graham grabbed his arms and pulled him from the room, closing the door.

 

Doyle was left standing in the center of the meeting room, his back half turned to Angel. His unfinished tea in his hand. He set it carefully on the tea cart. Wes had already lost one of his favorite sets of china. No need to break another.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Wesley found himself standing next to Balthazar. Wes hit the button to the second floor. He reached out and grabbed the vampire's sleeve as the elevator doors opened, dragging the vampire out with him, the doors sliding closed, carrying the others down to the ground floor. Balthazar flinched away, trying to pull the material from Wesley's grip.

 

"No. It is a day for talking. Talk to me, 'Zar." The Englishman said, his tone wheedling. "Angel told us to talk. Told you to talk to me. And we haven't. Talk to me." He tugged Balthazar into one of the free rooms and closed the door, leaning back against it.

 

"He told us to talk." The dark skinned vampire said, tonelessly. "But not to feed. He made it clear. What else is left for me to say if I can't feed from you, human?"

 

"That is not all. I know it isn't." Wesley reached out, catching the the lapel of Balthazar's impeccable, dark, suit jacket in his fist. Pulling, succeeding not in moving the vampire, only in bringing himself closer to the other. He trembled from head to foot as the front of both of their bodies came into contact. "It is more. I can feel it."


	30. Chapter 30

  
Author's notes: Angel and Doyle talk.  


* * *

Dr. Maggie Walsh hung up the phone and glared at it. If she wasn't so good, so practiced at self control, she might have given in to the urge to break the offending deliverer of bad news. Might have beat and obliterated the phone on her desk. Taught it who was boss. She smiled at the image.

 

The stupid vampire she had just released, who her surveillance team had lost track of, had been located. In LA. Not the venue she had intended to have him inhabit. To make matters worse he had apparently had a tie of some sort with her first choice of vampire to en-thrall. Angelus. They were residing in the same location. With around ten other persons, demons, vampires, other low-lifes.

 

The only good news that had come to her, both Angelus' thralls and Spike's thralls had been seen alive, though only from a distance with high power spy lenses. That was unexpected in light of the confirmation from the east coast, that two of the thralls had been found dead, three had not been seen again and might be alive or dead, and only one was confirmed alive. Anya. She had survived according to numerous reports.

 

Why then, had all of Angelus' thralls lived through their initiation? It was very important that she find out. And just as importantly, why had Spike's? What factor had kept them from death? And what had prevented them from contacting here? She had not managed to seize another vampire of sufficient age and power to chance making another attempt with new thralls. But she was gathering all relevant information in the off chance that the opportunity might be just around the corner.

 

The tracking devices had not worked. The chips were made for short distances and required the use of non-portable equipment kept in her laboratory. Spike was supposed to have remained near enough to the Initiative to be tracked by the base computers. That, due to the incompetence of her military help, had not happened.

 

But, she was working on how to retrieve the subjects. When she had put together the necessary plan and personnel, and the chance appeared, Spike would be returning to Sunnydale. And to her sphere of greater influence. Where she could watch him. Vampires were such territorial creatures. Angel would be throwing Spike out soon, and Maggie Walsh would have someone there to pick him up and bring him back where he belonged. She was sure she did not have long to wait.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel gestured Doyle to a chair nearer to the one he chose for himself. The other Irishman sat, avoiding eye contact. Angel merely watched him, and waited for a time. Then, when it became apparent that Doyle was too confused and distressed to speak up first, Angel began the conversation. He folded his hands together to control the urge he felt to touch the other man. Right now it would likely make Doyle flee, rather than be a comfort to him.

 

"Doyle. I know we need to talk, to clear the air over what ever is troubling you. Can't you tell me what it is? Must I guess at the nature of your trouble?" Angel asked, keeping his voice quiet, not allowing the tone of command into it. The command voice was the last thing he needed here. It would serve no purpose, if he was right about this, to use it on Doyle.

 

"I tried to tell you. When we were talking before, I wasn't sure then...." Doyle said after a long minute of silence. "It isn't easy to say. Then today...." He stopped. Angel waited. Finally prompting the other.

 

"When you stayed outside my rooms? When Spike found you?" He asked. Waiting to see if the other man would confirm the truth or deny it. Doyle froze. His eyes flicking all around the room, everywhere but at the vampire's face.

 

Doyle colored, the rush of blood stark in contrast to his unnatural paleness, like splotches of crimson splashed onto his cheeks by a careless hand. He nodded his head. "Yes. I was outside your room, when you... when Xander...when..." He croaked over the words, clearly humiliated with even this much of a confession. "I am sorry about that. I know I had no right..."

 

"Don't worry over it." Angel said to him. If Doyle could hardly deal with this much of an admission, how could he handle the rest? Which for him, would be far worse. Angel forced himself to take one small step at a time. Not to tell Doyle all of what he suspected. "But do tell me what is wrong."

 

"I am experiencing a compulsion to obey you." Doyle said. He had said that much without choking on it. Angel nodded encouragingly.

 

"I do know that much." He said, softly, leaning forward, then back when he saw how that motion made Doyle freeze in place. Like a trapped animal preparing to run.

 

"It is worse. I also...I feel...I have this...I..uh...need..." The half demon stuttered, faltering to a stop before revealing what the vampire needed to know. Was impatient to hear outloud.

 

"Just say it." Angel told him. "Once you say it, it will be easier to talk about the rest." Doyle lifted one hand to run through his dark hair.

 

"Ineedtobenearyou." Doyle blurted out, just when Angel had decided the other demon was not going to answer after all. Even as he was opening his mouth to find the words to make it alright for the other to say what was needed. He sighed his relief to be given the unexpected opening.

 

"OK. Why? What do you think it means?" He had to be careful here, not to let Doyle backpedal, to keep him talking without making him admit the entirety of his need too soon.

 

Doyle shook his head. Spoke to the cushions, not to Angel. "I am afraid to say. I am not a vampire. I am not of your blood in any way shape or form. We are not even the same species.... There is no reason for me to be wondering, thinking and obsessing over wanting to drink from you. Take your blood. When I see them....drinking from you, drinking your blood...It is driving me mad. I want to knock them away from you, horde it for myself. I don't know what is wrong with me, Angel. But it is getting worse. Very fast. I have no control over it. I am on the verge of attacking you. Just sitting here is taking most of the control I have left."

 

"I thought that might be it. So. What shall we do about it?" Angel fought not to show the surge of want he felt crash over him like a wave. It was nearly overwhelming in it's intensity.

 

"I have to leave." Doyle said, making as if to rise to his feet. Angel used words to stop him, instead of putting a restraining hand on him. If he touched Doyle now, the fragile thread of control still left would be broken too soon.

 

"You wouldn't get further than the front doors, my friend. Trust me on this. What other options do you see?" Angel said softly, putting all his conviction into his reply.

 

"There are none. I am going mad, Angel. You will have to kill me soon. Or I will start attacking anyone else who is near you. I can't stand to see them touch you."

 

"No. You are not going mad. I have heard of this. It has happened before. There is a solution. Perhaps not one you are comfortable contemplating. But one that, if you agree, will work for you, and for me."

 

"OK." Doyle said. "Tell me."

 

"Drink from me. Taste my blood. Like the others do." Angel said.

 

The pulse beat of his own heart almost deafened Doyle. He was sure he had not heard the offer correctly. Angel would never suggest...."What do you mean?"

 

"Drink my blood. Let us see what will happen before you are pushed to take it for yourself, without asking. I am offering it to you."

 

"But...there are too many. You can't feed them, and me, too. You can't want this." Desperate, Doyle looked to see the joke, his eyes wandering like a starving man's over the magnificence of the vampire sitting in front of him.

 

"I can feed all of you, and more. I am not at all what I was before. There has always been a tension between you and I, since the first we met. The recent changes I have experienced, my thralls, and the other vampires, have brought them to the fore, where we are no longer able to ignore and suppress them. We have to deal with these feelings. I am offering you the best solution I can think of. I don't want you to attack me unexpectedly during some important meeting because we put this off. Didn't deal with it." Angel explained.

 

"I can't." Doyle shook his head. "I can't do this. Cordelia won't understand it. She will leave me, Angel. I love her."

 

"What other choice do you see?" Angel asked. "You can not be with her if this is not taken care of. You know that to be true. You may not be able to be with her even if we do fix this between us. But perhaps. In time you will."

 

"I...I...There isn't one is there?" Doyle said. "Only to do this or to die."

 

"No. There isn't. Cordelia will not learn of it from me. I give you my word Doyle." Angel said. "But, I would suggest telling her. Or breaking it off with her if you can not tell her. It would be kinder."

 

"I can't lie to her." Doyle said with conviction.

 

"But, neither can you tell her." Angel said it, even and Doyle thought it.

 

"No. I can't tell her. Oh, Angel, what the hell am I going to do?"

 

"Well. Look at it from my point of view. I am the only one who knows that you and she are together." Angel said. "If you tell her that it is over between the two of you, no one else need know."

 

"I think Gunn might." Doyle broke in then flushed.

 

"I am the only one who knows for sure, then. Why?" Angel wanted Doyle to think about this. It was important.

 

"She doesn't want it spread around." Doyle said, and Angel could almost hear the words in Cordelia's voice. Doyle faltered, hung his head. Angel had to say something. To let Doyle know it wasn't him. His princess had done this to another.

 

"She wants to keep you secret. She has done this before. To Xander. Kept him secret from everyone. Until the secret was forced out, then when others knew, she abandoned him. Now she is doing it with you." Angel left Doyle to think on it for a few minutes. "Now you find yourself in a similar situation. She will not acknowledge you openly. And you.... Ah, Doyle! Your needs are an embarrassment to you. You don't want others to know you have them. But, they are not possible to ignore, these new needs. You have to address them."

 

"No. I am not embarrassed by them...." Doyle protested, ashamed. He faltered to a stop. "Oh, ghod. I am. I am sorry...I just want this to go away."

 

"No need to apologize, my friend. I have been where you are now. More than once. The important thing is, let us not allow the embarrassment you feel to kill you." The smile Angel offered was a small one, yet, so full of understanding, Doyle felt his breath catch in his chest.

 

"Angel..." He found himself near to tears. The other man rose to his feet. Moved slowly towards him, to his side.

 

"There is no choice but one. I will tell no one of this. But, they will find out, at some point. We are demons here, vampires and lycanthropes. They will smell the connection between us once you are mine." He shook his head as he came to kneel at Doyle's feet. "We can only hide it for a short time. But, the alternative is for you to die. After you go mad. So. Gain this, or lose everything."

 

"Why is this happening?" Doyle asked, brokenly, unable to stop the tears that started down his face.

 

"Because someone thought they had the right to experiment on me, and on my thralls." Angel answered. "Because someone interfered with the order of things." He brought his hand up to the smaller demon's face, cradling his chin.

 

"I do not want to lose you. This should never have happened, but it has. We must do what we have to, to fix it. Take my blood, Doyle. I offer it to you. I gift it to you. When ever you need it, it is yours. You, I do not make ask me for it, I do not ration it. It is yours. Take it. Please, don't refuse it." Angel bit his hand, sinking fangs deep into the pad of flesh at the base of his thumb, held it out, the blood pooling on top of his skin for an instant, then running to fill the hollow of his cupped palm. "Drink."

 

"You will own me." Doyle said even as he was reaching for the hand, and the blood, lowering his face to the rich redness that called to him with it's siren song.

 

"Yes. In a way. But, you will also own me. In a way." Angel said. "Drink."


	31. Chapter 31

  
Author's notes: The thralls aren't all so happy. Doyle solves one problem and gains another.   


* * *

Doyle drank. Slowly at first, trying to control the hunger and the need. Trying to ride the razor's edge that would allow him to take what he needed without losing any more control. That effort quickly changed, was abandoned, when the sweet, salty tang of the blood rolled over his tongue. He lost the little control he had held on to with the last of his will, and he drank. Gulping at the blood. At Angel's blood. Driven to feed his ravening need for the rich fluid.

 

Angel gradually moved around him, arms enfolding him, circling, until he was behind Doyle, their bodies pressed together, Doyle fully in his protective embrace. Angel's arms holding him, even as the half demon fed hungrily at the wound in Angel's palm. Licked and bit at it, feeding. Angel did not try to stop him or slow the feeding. He brushed their faces together, bending down because of the great difference in their heights. He let their faces rest side by side, felt the muscle and bone of Doyle mouth working.

 

Doyle felt it. The tingle of bonding, of joining, sing through him and into Angel. He nearly panicked at the sensation. But, if he gave in to the fear, he would have to run, and to run he would have to let go, step away from, this....He didn't want that. Nor did Angel. A hand spread over Doyle's belly, large enough to almost cover all of the skin. The hand didn't wander, it just stayed, touching, soothing, cradling him, as if he were well cared for, a thing of value, worth the most gentle care.

 

The blood stopped flowing, at the perfect moment, the instant he was full, satiated. Doyle raised his head, letting it fall back onto Angel's shoulder, near to swooning as he felt the blood he'd taken start to enter his body, seep into his veins.

 

He wanted to be closer he moved, turning his face in, towards the vampire's neck, as if to hide his face there. Angel let him, let him while he stroked his fine dark brown hair, held him. Doyle stood in the easy hold, his panic fading. This was not so bad.

 

Angel surrounded him like a shield, a wall of security and safety. He was not possessed, nor invaded. He had not lost himself, or his will as he feared he might. With the blood sitting warm in his belly, Doyle could think. Reason. He was not caught and imprisoned by the blood that had called to him. He was safe. He let out a great breath of air, relieved.

 

Angel smiled, and Doyle felt the smile against his own forehead. He sighed, a sound of relief.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel returned to his thralls, deep in thought.

 

Doyle was by no means an exception. There would be other demons, not vampires, who would feel the draw. Angel however did not feel much inclined to donate his blood to those strangers. The rationing of his blood would prove an incentive to those who were his allies.

 

Only the fact that Doyle was his friend allowed him to feel a level of comfort letting Doyle take blood from him, without asking him to swear an oath, actually offering it to him. Now that he had followers and his thralls....Angel was even less inclined to share his blood with others, and he had never been free with it in the first place.

 

He slipped into his rooms, seeing three bodies curled up on the wide bed. His thralls. One, the dark head lifted, Xander. The other two were deeply asleep. Xander raised his nose, sniffed, his eyes going yellow, his still human lips peeling back from still human teeth. Angel fixed the were-human with his own gold stare. He had known he couldn't hide the feeding from his were-thrall.

 

"You will say nothing." The master said too quietly to wake the other two. Xander snarled, unhappily. Angel threw off his robe and headed for the shower. Best to wash the other's scent off of him before he spent time around his thralls. He turned the water on hot, stepping in under the spray. He lathered the fragrant soap over his chest and body.

 

The door to the shower opened and Xander appeared. Angel blinked. The young man seized the soap and began scrubbing the vampire. Once was not sufficient. Angel had to allow Xander to lather and scrub and rinse him three times before Xander was satisfied with the result.

 

He stood and let Xander scrub his feet, his legs, his hands his face, his chest his belly and his back. Xander was especially diligent with the one hand that Doyle had licked and sucked the blood from.

 

Angel endured the attention patiently, knowing it was what his thrall needed from him. Waiting for Xander to be satisfied with his efforts so that they could leave the shower. Finally, Xander pulled him out, turning off the water and toweled all of the vampire dry, rubbing his own scent across the freshly washed skin. He was intent on replacing the now obliterated scent of Doyle with his own. Angel waited for him to be done. Then they left the bathroom together.

 

The robe Angel had been wearing, a favorite of his, was on the floor where he had dropped it. But now it was shredded to ribbons of gold and black, clawed into a pile of rags. Angel stopped. Stood over it, grasped Xander by his upper arms and turned his thrall to face him.

 

"You will not lay a hand, a claw, you will do nothing to harm Doyle. He is now mine. Do you understand me, My Own?" Angel pointed with one hand down at the destroyed robe. The were-human wouldn't meet his eyes. Angel let out a growl, low and menacing. The other two thralls sat up on the bed, blinking the sleep out of their eyes. They fixed on Angel and Xander. "I will not be disobeyed." Angel added, warningly.

 

"This will not happen to him." Angel shook Xander sharply. "I have claimed him. He is mine to have, to hold as I wish." Graham spilled off of the bed as Xander's only response was a deep rumbling growl, dragging Riley with him, under the bed.

 

Angel threw the thrall from him. Following in a blur of movement, reaching Xander as he fell onto the mattress and pinning him there, one hand hard up under his chin.

 

Xander rolled, planting his feet in Angel's midsection and launching him over his head to crash into the wall. On the other side of the wall, Spike jumped a foot into the air. He half expected to see someone come through the wall. He backed away, placing himself between his own thralls and the wall. A second crash made him drop into a crouch. But nothing made it through the plaster and wood barrier.

 

Oz came up beside him. And Spike used an arm to push him back.

 

"They are fighting." Oz said, concern coloring his tone.

 

"Not a surprise." Spike said. "Vampires fight a lot. My dear Da has knocked me around some, believe me."

 

"So we should go over there and stop them?" Oz ventured.

 

Spike hooted. "Uh, no. Not that. That is the last thing ya should want to do. Can be fatal that, getting in between a vampire and his squeeze when they are fighting, think of it sort of like...discussing things... in a purely physical way."

 

Oz looked at him oddly. Spike turned, ignoring the continued sounds of struggle from the other room. He put an hand on the werewolf's shoulder.

 

"What?" He asked not comfortable with the look in his thrall's eye.

 

"So, I should expect that you and I....?" Oz gestured at the wall when it shuddered under another impact.

 

"Oh. No. I mean..." For some reason Spike couldn't envision the two of them fighting. It was not possible, he couldn't picture it. He'd rather chew off his own hand first. "We're different you and I, precious."

 

"And Nicholas?"Oz asked. "What of you and him? He is your thrall as well isn't he? You won't hit him will you?"

 

Spike winced. Now, him fighting Nicholas, that was surprisingly easy to think of. He darted a look up into Oz's guile-less eyes. He shrugged helplessly, grimacing. "Sorry, love. I think Nicky and I...well that is..the way you and I are, it is special. Nicky...I think he'll give me a tumble for my money. He has a temper on him." Spike tried being honest.

 

"I don't like the idea of you and he fighting." Oz said. His eyes meeting Spike's with an openness that made the vampire's heart pound.

 

"Oh, love..." Spike said, softly, trying to find an answer to the unanswerable...and saved from it by the loud crash of something large breaking in the room next door. They both refocused their attention on the wall, straining with inhumanly acute hearing to eavesdrop on what was going on next door.

 

Angel stood, battered and bruised, over his panting were-thrall. Xander lay sprawled on the floor, gasping for air. A need that had probably won the fight for the vampire, who had no such requirement for oxygen. Angel stood waiting. Watching, as Xander struggled onto his belly.

 

Xander lifted his head, crawling the short distance between himself and the vampire. He lapped at Angel's feet. Laying his cheek against the cool skin.

 

"What the hell was that about?" Riley asked plaintively from under the bed. Graham was next to him, both waiting to hear the answer, Angel looked down at them, but said nothing. They stayed where they were, under the sheltering hang of the heavy bedframe.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

His stomach had a bit of an itch. Doyle rubbed at it. It only seemed to get worse, so he set aside the scrolls he was reading for Wesley, and lifted the edge of his shirt to inspect the area that had started to pull and itch.

 

A perfect imprint of Angel's bloody hand was there, livid, deep red, on the half demon's white skin. His belly button visible between the imprint of thumb and first finger. The imprint of the littlest finger, a relative term Doyle thought visually comparing his small hand against the one on his stomach, dipping below the waist band of his low slung pants, grazing into his dark pubic hair, just next to where the shaft of his penis began.

 

Doyle rubbed at the mark. It wasn't blood, not on top of his skin in any case. He scratched at it. It didn't flake off. He tried to remember if Angel had touched him there....Yes. When he had held him, comforted him, Doyle recalled the large hand pressing to his belly under his shirt. Warm, reassuring. Now....this. Not so reassuring.

 

Doyle went directly to the sink in the empty kitchen. He turned on the water, ran a sponge under the stream, squeezed out some soap and scrubbed at the mark. He built up an impressive amount of foam, cascading down the front of his pants, as he fought down the panic, holding his shirt out of the way as he washed, the hem in his teeth. He rinsed, getting the entire front of his pants wet down to the knees.

 

He peered at the pinkened skin of his stomach. The mark, the large imprint of Angel's hand was still there, undiluted, unsmeared. Doyle threw the sponge into the sink, crouching down to the linoleum, whimpering, hands widespread on the floor. Oh, fuck! What had he done? What had *they* done? Cordelia would not fail to see this, and it would be the final straw. She would leave him. He would lose her, because he couldn't control himself. How could he explain away the handprint on him, especially there? It wasn't like it was on his back, or on his shoulder...

 

He regained his feet and grabbed the scouring pad. Running it under the water. He applied the steel wool to his skin.


	32. Chapter 32

  
Author's notes: Doyle....and a visit begins badly.  


* * *

Gunn froze in the kitchen doorway for a second, unable to believe his eyes. Doyle was on the floor holding his abdomen, fingers spread wide, and there was blood literally everywhere around the small man. The grey and white linoleum was spattered with scarlet drops and darkening puddles. Doyle was weeping, frantically pawing at himself, smearing the blood that dripped from his center.

 

"Doyle!" Gunn half shouted, Doyle looked up, confusion written all across his stark white features. Gunn felt a frisson of pure, undiluted terror shoot through him at that lost expression. As if Doyle thought this was it, the end. For an instant he couldn't move couldn't do anything but stare.

 

"Help!" Gunn shouted into the air. Where was everyone? How had this happened in Angel's house, the hotel, without anyone else knowing? Was there no one left to help? Had they all been attacked?

 

Gunn ran across the floor, dropping to his knees grabbing Doyle's hands and holding them away from his body, feeling the cooling blood soak into his jeans. His axe and knife, both of which he hadn't let out of his sight since the influx of visitors to the hotel, clattered to the ground as he frantically searched the bleeding body, pushing Doyle back onto the linoleum, flat so he could look and see. Doyle resisted, trying to sit up. Over and over.

 

"Relax, buddy, let me see. It's alright. I'll take care of it." Gunn tried to quiet the other man, tried to keep him still, not make anything worse, nor aggravate any injury.

 

Trying to see the wound, if it was deep, or if the weapon that had caused it was still lodged in there. He saw nothing, no cuts nor slashes nor entrance wounds, nothing but terribly abraded skin, ragged edged, and blood, so much blood.

 

Clutched in one of the demon's hands was a bloodied mass of...something, clotted. Gunn could not tell what. He pushed it away, it fell, with a thick, meaty sound. Doyle let out a moan, pain filled, broken, and crumpled like an empty bag to the floor. Unconscious. Gunn held felt fear rip through his body.

 

Gunn caught him up, sliding long arms under his shoulders and knees, lifted him, aware that he had to get the other to a hospital. Ghod, he was light, he couldn't weigh more than 140 tops, a good 50 pounds lighter than Gunn himself. When had he gotten so thin? Then Gunn wondered frantically, which hospital can I take him to? Did any of them know how to treat a demon? A half demon? Would it be the wrong thing to do? Thoughts and fears swirled crazily in the space of an instant.

 

He swung Doyle all the way into his arms and headed for the main entrance to the hotel, rushing forward, running. He was reaching out, fumbling for the bar to open the doors, slick fingers slipping, his grip refusing to hold, when a sound alerted him that he was not alone in the foyer. He whirled, sure that it would be the person or the demon who had attacked and injured Doyle. He braced himself ready to defend them both, cursing himself for not having his weapons at hand. The axe and knife lay, useless, on the floor of the kitchen.

 

It was not a stranger, it was Alistair, coming towards him, them, rapidly, uncharacteristic strain on his normally tranquil face. Gunn felt every hair on his body stand on end. The gaze was gold, the face was gameface. The fine nostrils were flared, everything screamed threat, screamed danger, urged him to run far and fast. But there was no way for him to get out, far enough away to out distance a vampire, without dropping Doyle in the process. And Gunn was not going to drop Doyle for anything on Earth. The smaller man moaned, as if on cue.

 

Alistair hardly wasted a look at Gunn, his whole attention focused on Doyle. His eyes homed in on the blood, his hand reaching out and trying to touch the blood. His tongue, a soft pink, stealing out to lick his lips. Gunn felt his skin tighten, as terror for himslef, for Doyle tore through him.

 

Gunn pulled back turning to one side, trying to shield Doyle with his body, ready to attack the vampire if he tried to take Doyle away, or tried to bite either of them. Adrenaline and rage roared through him.

 

"Why didn't you help him? You couldn't smell this before it got so bad? You are a vampire aren't you? How did someone get in here and do this?" Gunn shouted at the blond vampire standing mere inches in front of him, still concentrating on Doyle rather than on Gunn, even as Gunn shouted at him. Alistair floated nearer, eyes sparkling, inhuman.

 

Alistair looked up at him, then came forward the last little bit, his fingers slipping across the pooling blood that lay on Doyle's belly. He stepped closer, crowding Gunn up against the door frame, trying to grapple the injured man from the warrior. Gunn elbowed him in the face as hard as he could, having to let Doyle's body swing awkwardly down as he did.

 

Alistair avoided the main force of the blow, it grazed along his cheek, doing no damage, not even diverting him from his objective, he still had his hands on Doyle. Gunn followed up with a strike to the throat when the vampire tried to pull Doyle away again. Alistair avoided it, letting it brush past him, twitching to the side so fast Gunn was startled. Horrified, realizing he was next to helpless against this one, in this situation, no weapons at hand, Doyle in his arms.

 

Gunn backed up two rapid steps, and kicked out at Alistair, hitting him square in the chest, which made the slender vampire grunt, but nothing much more, his pale green eyes flashing golden. And this blow, the vampire returned. Hard and fast and just short of doing lethal damage. It slammed into Gunn's chest, punishingly, breath robbingly hard.

 

Gunn flew back. Smashing into the wall and falling to one knee, Doyle spilling limply to the floor, blood smearing over the tiles. Alistair knelt, gathered Doyle up in his arms. Gunn sat up, hand on his breastbone, splinting the explosion of paralyzing pain. Then seeing Doyle about to be carried out of the room, he forced himself up, staggering. Fighting to get back his wind. "No. Stop. Ghod damn it...What the hell are you doing...." He was gasping, sweating, his words wheezed out, desperate.

 

Alistair stopped in mid step. Waiting for Gunn to stop swaying, to regain his breath. "I am taking him to Angel." The soft tenor of the vampire's voice robbed Gunn of most of his fear for Doyle's safety. "The master will heal his own."

 

Gunn frowned even as the relief washed over him. Alistair was not going to take Doyle somewhere and finish the job. Alistair was not the assailant he had feared him to be. Gunn knew it then. The relief made his knees weak. But he fixed on the vampire's words even so. Needing an answer, because he didn't like what he had heard. Not at all.

 

"What do you mean, 'his own'?" Gunn demanded. Alistair ignored him, heading up the stairs, Gunn running, stumbling to catch him.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel went down on his knees. Leaning over Xander while his thrall caught his breath. He brushed a hand over the sweaty, mussed locks of dark brown hair. He bent lower, turning to position his mouth where he wanted it. Lightly, he touched his lips to the full ones, just at the corner, feeling the rush of inhalation, exhaltion pass his cheek. Flicking out his tongue to catch the flavor of his thrall's mouth, his sweet taste.

 

Xander lay quietly under his ministrations, eyes bright, alert and...pleased. As if the fight had been what he needed, as if it settled him, comforted him. Angel bet that it had. The hyena spirit wanting confirmation of the heirachy, it's position in the pack. And Angel had given the hyena what it wanted. That and a good fight, what more could Xander ask for? He radiated his satisfaction.

 

Angel licked him. Bathing his face with small laps of his tongue. Little nips with vampire sharp fangs. All the way, slow and leisurely to the crook of the long neck, stretched out, bared for him, waiting, waiting....He sank his fangs in, letting out his own sigh of pleasure, of acceptance. Feeling Xander submit, so beautifully, growling his approval, his long, powerful legs wrapping around Angel's hips. Holding him. Offering more, but not yet demanding it as the vampire fed.

 

Angel let his hands wander, down between Xander's legs, legs which parted for him. Reluctant with the still new unfamiliarity of this act, but parting none the less. Angel felt the warmth of the crevice he sought, the hot, crinkled flesh that met his searching finger. He pressed in, just the tip of his finger into that heat, snarled at the voluptuous feel as the opening unfurled for him.

 

Xander gasped, trembled, Angel pushing in, slow, inevietable, his long, thick finger gripped, surrounded, his hand up hard, tight to the lycanthrope's body, thumb pressing into Xander's scrotum, rolling his balls. Xander's flesh a heated glove, welcoming the intrusion, the promising threat of the caress.

 

Angel smiled as he drank. Riding the edge of force, of non-consent, of taking what was his to take, of demanding submission. Thoughts of fucking, hard and fast and brutal, if he wanted. Of fighting and demanding, hearing the moans underneath him. He swallowed the coppery-hot blood, finger buried, teasing himself with the visions of the rutting he planned.

 

So, good, the spice of lycanthrope blood, of thrall blood, of the blood of the youth that he had lusted after when Angelus had been foremost. While Buffy had had Angel's devotion, Xander had had every ounce of Angelus' unrequited lust....most definitely. Angelus, who bucked the rules, sneered at the traditions more blatantly than Angel ever had. Angelus who defied human laws, and mores. Who took what and who he wanted, damn the consequences.

 

There was shouting. Angel raised his head from Xander's neck, the were-hyena whining in mild complaint. Arching up, to try and tempt the vampire back to the feeding. Arching high enough to rub his tiny, brown nipples over Angel's smooth, muscled chest, his body tightening down on the vampire's finger. Angel thrust in a second finger, deep, even as he looked to the door.

 

Feet pounding up the stairs, loud, Gunn, and a quieter step, light and quick, no less urgent for the softness, Alistair. Angel was on his feet and to the door, yanking it open, even as Gunn's fist was raised to pound on the unyielding wood. The warrior blinked. Angel looked past him, to the gold/white vampire who carried....Doyle.

 

Angel reached past Gunn, caught Alistair's collar, and pulled him into the room, Doyle and all.

 

"On the bed." Angel ordered, and Alistair lay Doyle, barely moving, moaning, crying, and bleeding on top of the spread. Graham was there, in an instant. Riley up and running for the bathroom and returning with an armful of towels. Graham holding Doyle's hands, which were seeking out his middle, clawing at the raw pain. Angel bent down to look, to see.

 

"What have you done?" He murmured, in an undertone Gunn had to strain to hear. Gunn frowned harder. Angel thought....Doyle had done this. To himself. What!?

 

"Hold on." Gunn barked. "Why do you think that Doyle did this? Why don't you think someone else is responsible?"

 

"I didn't say...." Angel murmured, warningly. Bending down. Xander was suddenly there, sniffing, trying to worm his way through the crowd. His long tongue licked at his lips. Riley pushed him back.

 

"You didn't have to. Just, please...answer the question. Why do you think he did it?" Gunn hissed. He grabbed Angel's arm. The look he got made him drop his hand, step back, reach for his absent axe.

 

"Today I gave him blood." Angel said.

 

"And that is enough to drive him to suicide?" Gunn scoffed. "I don't think so."

 

"I haven't shared blood since attaining my thralls, except to bind my vampires to me. The sharing with Doyle...was stronger than I had expected it to be. I meant only to feed him, to ease his craving, but I marked him. I was not aware of it before, or I would not have let him go so soon, without warning him. But, now, I can feel it." Angel sniffed at the air. "And I can smell the mark."

 

"Angel. This is really not good. How can any of us trust you? Doyle didn't want to be bound to you. I know he didn't."

 

"None want to be bound to me. Not one of those standing here came willingly to me. All were forced. Is that what you want me to say, Gunn? Then I will say it. My thralls were forced to bind to me or die. My vampires feel the need to bind to me burning through their gut. They had no choice but to take my claim into themselves as they drank my blood. Doyle never wanted this. He felt my call, and if given a choice he would have refused it. I do admit it all. But. I never had the choice to become what I am becoming. This is not my doing. I did not want this, either."

 

Xander had finally managed to get around Graham and Riley who had been trying to block him.

 

"Angel!" Graham called out. Xander bent down began enthusiastically lapping up the blood drenching Doyle. Angel let his hand fall onto the back of Xander's neck. But he did not stop him. Xander purred his satisfaction.

 

"Angel?" Gunn asked, horror filling his face. "What is he doing? Why are you letting him...?"

 

"He is mine. They are mine. Do not interfere." The vampire said. Tone calm, even. Gunn shuddered. He opened his mouth to protest, fists balled, fuck this knuckling under and submitting crap...*he* didn't belong to Angel, or anyone in this ghod damned room. He never got the words out.

 

Balthazar appeared in the open doorway. His attention drawn to the scene on the bed, to Xander's bloodied face, to the lycanthrope's tongue working it's way over the torn flesh. The dark vampire swallowed, fighting to speak as Angel looked up at him, face less than friendly.

 

"Demons. Seven of them. Downstairs. Waiting to speak with you." Balthazar licked his dry lips, Xander darting him a glance of malice as he licked his own, reddened mouth.

 

A voice like rocks breaking, grinding as they fell, rang out, roared up to the room from far below. Gunn closed his eyes, not understanding the demon-speech, but understanding what it meant. Grimm, the Hanth'h demon was here. And Grimm, anywhere, was not good.

 

Wesley, voice weak, shaking, whispered the translation, moving closer to the dark vampire he stood next to. Balthazar turning, stepping in front of the man. Between him and the door.

 

"Angelus, dark angel, living son of the eternal line of Aurelius, I bear you warning. I stand here in your House, coming to treat with you and yours, and smell the scent of demon blood. Who's blood has spilled in this place? Do you sacrifice demons in the name of your cause now?"

 

Wesely's voice was filled with his horror, wide eyes fixed on Xander, licking, licking, at Doyle's torn flesh. His gaze flew up to Angel's, just as Angel changed to game face, fury filling his hot, golden eyes.


	33. Chapter 33

  
Author's notes: Nicholas.  


* * *

Nicholas Yee bolted upright in the bed. He was alone on the bed, but not in the room. A hotel room from the look of it, all ornate and dated furnishings, heavy dresser, huge bed, browns and greens and ivory. The wallpaper, the elaborate, flowered kind he remembered seeing in some old movies. The stuff he recalled grandmothers were fond of. All in all, a hotel room. Big, classy, but still a hotel room.

 

The room's other two occupants were at the door, peering outside, the taller of the two, platinum haired, seeming to hover protectively over the shorter as they listened intently to some ruckus that was going on in the distance. Some grinding sound, like concrete being cut or broken up. Nic found his head too sore for him to care right now.

 

Fine. He recognized them both. Not able to recall their names, through his pounding, seething headache, but the vampire was the one designated as Hostile 17, and the smaller one, the red-haired, freckled boy-man, was the thrall Dr. Walsh made for the experiment on vampire control. Nicholas shook his head. Why, was he here, with them? That was the big question rolling around in his aching brain. He seemed to recall some conversation.... Dr. Walsh telling him something...he remembered what that was, suddenly. A wave of nausea washed over him. He had been bitten. By the vampire standing over there.

 

He clapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted to the bathroom, thankfully the open door and the light switched on, made it very easy to spot. There wasn't even time to shut the door as he fell to his knees, feeling the unpleasant impact bruise his knees, grabbed the rim, and vomited up his toes. Everything he'd ever eaten it felt like. Every scrap of food this year at the very least. Jeez.

 

He lay his face against the thankfully clean porcelain. It felt good, nice and cool. He was sweaty, hot, sticky. Unhappy. Dr. Walsh had talked to him, explained things, how they were, and his choices after he had been stupid enough to let the vampire bite him. Her exact words. Stupid.

 

Imprisonment and confinement at the laboratory base for "observation" after the bite. Where he would undergo regular blood sampling, and other necessary tests to monitor his condition. The confinement would continue as long as Dr Walsh felt that it should, for the safety of all concerned. Or he could agree to being part of the experiment and not be locked away indefinitely in a tiny glass walled cell under her loving care. He heaved again, spewing more bile into the toilet. He felt like pure crap.

 

Every soldier assigned to the Initiative was painfully aware of the lack of maternal and caring instinct the good doctor possessed. Even experienced soldiers felt their skin crawl at the mention of her tender mercies. Sometimes it was hard to watch, what she did to her specimens, even the Hostiles didn't deserve that, did they? A quick death, sure. Not torture, living dissection. Dr Walsh-Mengele. That was the nickname they used when they were far out of earshot, on the few days they spent away from the job, hanging around in Sunnyhell. Relaxing in the many bars near the Hellmouth.

 

His stomach heaved again. That was the main reason he'd agreed to being given the serum. So she wouldn't have him around, locked in a cell, when she got bored and decided to take a look at something's or someone's innards. Maybe his. Because as far as he'd seen, in the months working with the woman, she didn't harbor any kindness towards anyone simply because they'd worked with her at one time or another. She was far to practical to waste a resource for sentimental reasons.

 

He didn't know why else he'd chosen this way. It wasn't turning out so well, if this was any example. Just that it had seemed to be the choice Dr Walsh had preferred, and while he'd been strapped to the infirmary gurney, helpless, keeping her happy was first on his list. He heaved again, into the toilet bowl, so hard he wouldn't have been surprised to see body parts instead of bile. Then, after waking up in the cell, with the Hostile and his thrall, Nic didn't remember a thing. Just one big, fuzzy, sleepy blur. No. Wait. He remembered being bitten, like it was some dream, all confused and blurred.

 

He lifted a shaking hand to swipe at his forehead, and almost fell face first into the toilet. He grabbed the rim again, steadying himself as best he could. So. What now? He was sick. Why? Was he going to be a vampire? Had the Hostile taken too much blood? Was this a reaction to the change? Or to....He gave up trying to think. Later. He'd think all this through, later. When he didn't feel like he was dying.

 

He slowed his breathing, spitting the bitter taste into the trembling water. He reached up, trying to find the handle and flush away the noxious, acidic smell. He couldn't raise his head yet, nor could he find the latch...then the toilet flushed. And legs were there in front of him. He didn't even know who's they were, those legs. He blinked, and still didn't know. He closed his eyes.

 

Then it came to him. By a process of deduction. Not encased in black. In a pair of bright honey, yellow and green plaid flannel pajamas, with red roses dotting the lattice of other colors, that he couldn't imagine Hostile 17 wearing willingly. The vampire would probably go naked first.

 

So this was....ghod he couldn't remember the name. It was him, the thrall. The short guy. Then he forced himself to face brutal reality as he corrected himself silently. The *other* thrall. He, his mother's well loved if rebellious son, was also a thrall. He wished he could throw up something else, but he was empty. Besides he didn't want to lift his head and hold it over the bowl. It was too heavy, requiring too much effort.

 

The red haired man bent down, placing a warm cloth on the back of his neck. That was heaven. So damn good. Nic let go with a huge shiver, teeth chattering. Abruptly cold, in contrast to the one area of warmth under the square of towel, as he crouched there, naked? Why naked? Nic groaned as he tried not to think about that. The quick cataloging of his aches, pains and stiffnesses, told him some unpleasant things had to be faced.

 

He'd been fucked. Not severely damaged or torn, so maybe not raped, at least not without some care, but someone had been up there. He knew what that felt like, the empty ache, the rawness, it had happened in the past a time or two. Shit. By who? The man taking care of him now....or Hostile 17? Or...? He huddled on the floor, dropping down to rest on his side, half on the bathmat, half on the icy tiles, freezing cold now, tucked into a fetal position, trying to reduce his surface area, reduce his heat loss.

 

"Hold on. We need to get you heated up." The caring tone was unexpected. He managed a moan in response. Was patted on his bare shoulder, felt too horrible to flinch away from the familiarity.

 

The sound of water, bathwater running, and warm-hot steam filled the bathroom. Heat, blessed heat, filling the room, taking the chill out of the air. Ghod that would feel good, to crawl into that heat, let it soak into his bones. If only he could move.

 

He looked over the floor, to the huge claw footed tub. Three feet. Might as well be the entire expanse of the Sahara. He was not going to be able to drag himself even that far. Not even for the bath he wanted more than anything right now.

 

Which turned out not to be a problem. The small guy lifted him. Not even straining. OK now that was weird. Christ, Walsh had missed this. It was almost enough to make him smile, glad she had fucked up. She hadn't briefed them on the thrall being anything but human. So either being a thrall made you extra strong, which he didn't believe was the case considering his own state of health, he couldn't have lifted a Kleenex right now, or there had been something going on with the little guy before he'd become part of the grand experiment. Just great. He bet Walsh would go crazy when she found out. Well at least he wasn't going to be around for the blow up.

 

"Need help, love?" Came the British voice of Hostile 17. Not snarky, nasty or threatening, the only tones he had heard the Hostile use before. Nic felt far too miserable to care, to turn or say anything. He was too miserable even to feel afraid. If the vamp killed him he'd feel better, wouldn't he? It was impossible to feel worse.

 

"No. I have him. Maybe you can find him some aspirin, or Tylenol or something?" The voice was soft. Rather kind. Compassionate. The touch on him was very gentle as he was lowered into the blissful heat of the tub. He slid under all the way for a split second, then was righted, his head above the water. Supported. "Sorry." The kind voice said. "I am not so good at bathing other people. You alright now?" Nic just blinked the water out of his eyes.

 

"Sure thing, pet, I'll see what is around." The voice was affectionate, kind, with an edge of teasing. This was a vampire talking? Nic had never heard anything but threats from one of the Hostiles. There was the sound of cabinets opening. A bottle of pills rattling. The bitter taste of three aspirin almost making him throw up again. Great, that would be fun, throwing up in his own bathwater. But he only just managed to down a tiny sip of water, then a second, diluting the horrible taste enough to calm his belly.

 

"Can you hold him? I want to wash him off." Hands supported him kept him from drowning. He wasn't sure if he should be grateful or not. They washed him, everywhere. Front, back, crotch, ass.

 

Ah. A new level of humiliation. He was being given a bath. The first one since he was a tot.

 

"Grab me some more towels?" The red head asked, his voice pitched low, as if he understood how bad Nic felt. That was nice. The towels were voluminous. Soft. He was wrapped head to foot, only his nose sticking out. He still felt like crap. But he was warm crap now.

 

He was lifted up in strong arms, carried, rolled into the bed, the towels taken away. He shivered. A warm body snuggled in next to him. Naked. Him and them. The vampire, kept away from him, not cool skin to leech away the little warmth he had gained. Nic was thankful.

 

"I don't think...Spike? Maybe he needs some blood. It has been a while since he had any."

 

Whoa. That did not sound good, he did not want blood. He opened his mouth, croaked. Nothing anyone could understand unless they were psychic.

 

"Worth a try, precious." The vampire said. And there was a wrist in front of Nic. Bleeding. Blood. He expected to cringe away, but instead his body surged forward, towards the dripping limb. His hands fastened around it, with more strength than he thought possible, his teeth digging in, his mouth attaching like a limpet. And he drank.

 

Hot. Salty. Sweet. Life's blood. His headache faded. His body hummed. Oh, ghod this was not right. Not good. He *was* a fucking *thrall*.


	34. Chapter 34

  
Author's notes: The Blood of demons. Spike and Oz and Nicholas, a beginning. Cordy returns, and boy is she unhappy. This Chappie is for Texasaries. Beta'd as always by Bryt! Who does me a great service. Couldn't do it half as well witout her.  


* * *

Xander finally lifted his head. His pointed muzzle was bloody, and his tongue worked at it, around it, trying to get every tiny drop of succulent fluid. Doyle lay perfect, his tummy just lightly pink, except for the dark red handprint that was marked there. His chest rose and fell gently with each breath, but he was not yet ready to wake and deal with the events of the day just passing. Angel cradled him.

 

Gunn for his part was absolutely flabbergasted. He took a step towards the vampire and the half demon he held. Angel kept an alert eye on him, prepared for the possibility of retaliation. Gunn was staring. Gaping at the smooth, uninjured expanse of skin that had been, moments ago, torn, shredded. He had never seen anything like that. He'd been afraid that Xander would do more damage, bite Doyle, try to eat him, but, instead, he saw this...Doyle healed. He opened his mouth. Looked at Angel, at the thralls. He found he had nothing to say. He'd never expected this. Vampires and shapeshifters hurt, they did not heal.

 

Angel stroked an hand over Xander's furry head as the lycanthrope settled down next to him, taking care of grooming himself. Graham and Riley gathered the stained towels and carried the sodden mess into the bathroom, then returned with damp ones, handing them to Alistair. The blond vampire pulled his shirt off, which Riley took from him. He was nicely formed, looked strong, though Gunn knew that looks didn't make any difference when it came to vamps. Wesley and Balthazar were out into the hall way. Graham handed Alistair one of Angel's shirts, but the vampire shook his head.

 

"Angel." The creamy chocolate skinned vampire called from outside of the room. "It is time, I think." He was looking down at the foyer far below. "The Grimm are becoming restless." His distaste for the other demons was plain in his voice.

 

Angel picked up Doyle in his arms striding to the door, out onto the landing. He went to the edge, holding Doyle up against his chest, high, so the demons below could see him. They looked up, seven identical faces, standing in a wedge, like a flock of geese. Grimm. Hanth'h demon. They smiled, all at once, more a showing of teeth, jagged and saw toothed, sharp, cutting blades, rather than a welcoming expression. Otherwise they looked remarkably human, if a trifle larger and a translucent, honey colored.

 

Xander tried to follow his master out of the room, but Angel shook his head. "No. Not with the Grimm. You stay in my rooms. I will send for you, if it is safe. Riley, Graham. Keep him here."

 

The two human thralls looked at each other, then at Xander. Oh, now *that* was going to be easy. Graham sat down on the floor, Riley right behind him and they cuddled up to the unhappy were-hyena. Xander whined, yellow eyes huge in his furred face. Angel shook his head then turned back to the visitors.

 

Angel spoke, not in the grating language, but in one similar, one modified for the human apparatus of speech. Grimm nodded, seven dark heads bobbing, and came for the stairs. They went up, quick and agile, of one mind and action, the traits that had earned them the fear and wary admiration in the demon world.

 

Wes followed their little group, behind Angel, his anxious eyes moving from the back of the tallest, Angel, to the darkest, Zar, to the ghostly figure of the blond, Alistair. Gunn strode next to Wesley. Another problem, Gunn reflected. What to do with Wes. The normally practical man was clearly head over heels for a very inappropriate choice of lover. If Balthazar could even be a human's lover in the first place. The creature made what little hair Gunn did have stand on end. Add to that the fact Gunn had never seen Wes fall for a male at anytime...And yeah, it was a problem.

 

The Grimm gained the second floor landing and were met by Alistair and Balthazar first. The former scoured of the blood that had been on his clothes, now shirtless, his skin nearly glowing, stretched over very lovely muscle. The Grimm looked at him, heads tilting in unison, noses flaring. Interest sparking in all their eyes. They trailed into the meeting room after the blond vampire, sniffing.

 

"Who is this one? He wears the blood of our brethren." The Grimm ground out, the huge hands of the first one reaching out. Balthazar and Alistair growled warningly. But it was only the arrival of Angel, Doyle in his arms, that averted the physical confrontation.

 

"No. Grimm. Be seated and I will explain. This one is mine. He is Alistair." Angel said taking a wide chair for himself. Doyle stayed in his lap, draped over his legs like a living pieta. Arm trailing to rest just above the floor, his bare chest gleaming, his green eyes soft, as if he dreamed. Angel reached out, pulled a couch blanket off the back of his chair and covered him with it. The eyes of the Grimm noticed it all. The smooth, healed skin. The hand print marring the silk of his skin. They rumbled as one.

 

"Explain, yes, we wait to hear your words, Angelus." Wesley translated for the rest of the room. "We have heard things. Important things, we must know if they are true. We must have this answered, son of Aurelius, do you start a court on these shores? Is it as the rumors have said? That around you there are those who are a blood circle?" The Grimm asked, the room filled with the grating, tearing speech of their kind. The skin over their bodies rippled when they spoke. Gunn blinked at the odd phenomenon. He wished fervently for his axe.

 

Angel nodded. "It has been done, Grimm. By humans who interfered with the balance. I would not chose it. But now that it is done, I can not undo it. I form a court here in LA. And there are others, I do not know how many, who have also been given thralls through the interference of humans." Angel said, leaning back, holding Doyle carefully, gently. It was vital the Grimm not think the half demon was not being treated properly. They were the keepers of other demons. They would protest, violently, any mistreatment done in front of them.

 

"You have taken one of ours into your circle, you reek of his sacred blood, the blood of a seer, brought to life to serve the Powers. Why has this been allowed to happen?" The Grimm asked him, shifting around, moving from chair to chair, rubbing their bodies against each other's, communicating without words.

 

"My power called to him. He burned for my blood. I gave it to him." Angel said, carefully. "He came to me in need. A fellow demon and a friend. I could not turn him away." Wesley listened to the response and whispered the interpretation. Gunn listened avidly. So this was not the vampire's fault?

 

"As you should. But, it is not your blood we smell, vampire. It is the sacred blood. It either blesses or defiles as it is spilled. Which purpose does it fill in this house?" The grating roar rose a fraction, tinged heavily with the promise of retaliation for the wrong answer.

 

Angel looked completely disconcerted. Doyle's blood? Sacred? Not just blood in general being called that, but Doyle's blood specifically? "I do not know how to answer you, Grimm. He did himself injury after I gave him my blood. I have not taken nor drawn his blood apurpose." Angel uncovered Doyle, showing the demon Doyle's healed abdomen again. The print of his hand glowed scarlet. The Grimm grunted, those of the seven who were standing, taking a step backwards.

 

"He is marked." The first one said. The others shifted restlessly behind him.

 

"He tried to remove the mark, and he bled." Angel explained, quietly. "He did not wish to be marked."

 

The Grimm looked at Angel, all eyes fixed on him. All gone still, intent on his face. "How did this mark come to be, Angelus?"

 

"We were here, he came to me hungering. He let me know he needed my blood. I gave it to him. My hand was on his skin. I did not realize it, but it marked him as he fed." Angel told them truthfully.

 

"Did you speak vows to the sacred one? Did you bind together?" The Grimm asked. Their eyes flickering from Doyle to Angel to Wes and the others in the room. Balthazar crossed his arms over his chest. Alistair murmured something to the other vampire, too low for Gunn to hear. Balthazar uncrossed his arms.

 

"No vows beyond me telling him I would never deny him the blood he needs. I felt the binding, but not so powerfully as the bonds to my thralls. I did not expect it. I have no intention of forcing it beyond what it is." Angel said very carefully.

 

"It is everything already as we stand here. Angelus, uphold the honor of your line, son of Aurelius. Speak the vows. Bind to him. We witness." The Grimm said, all standing, looming over everyone else in the room.

 

Angel frowned. "Huh. What vows would those be, Grimm?" Afraid he already had an inkling.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Nic fell back on to the bed. His headache was gone, he no longer thought he was going to die. Or that he would be better off dead. At least not right this instant. And damn, the blood had *tasted* good. He licked his lips.

 

"Thanks, Spike." The red haired man was saying, snuggled up close to Nic's side, keeping him toasty warm. "You look better, how do you feel?" He asked Nic.

 

"Just peachy." Nic grumbled, trying to deal with more, with the situation he found himself in, now that his headache was gone. "Where are we?"

 

"In bed." Was the vampire's grinning reply as he looked down at Nic, over the red head's shoulder. "One of my favorite places. What about it Oz? Did I earn my kisses, precious?" The vampire wheedled. Being this close, and in a bed with his thralls was doing interesting things down below. He was hard as a rock, ready for action.

 

Oz looked over at him, rolling onto his back, reaching up. "Kiss me?" He ventured with a smile. Spike's eyes went dark gold as he descended, mouth opening, fangs extending, a hell of a *lot* of fangs.

 

Nic stared. Oh, shit.

 

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Cordelia strode into the hotel, pushing Lorne in front of her. It had taken hours for her to convince him to accompany her back to the hotel. Lorne still thought it was a very bad idea not to call first. They weren't dealing with the more forgiving Angel of the past. But, Cordelia had a way of insisting. So, here they were. In the entry way. Which was blessedly, strangely empty.

 

They stood, undecided on what to do next, when the eerie silence was broken. They both heard the awful, grinding sound coming from the second floor and without a word, Cordelia took a firm grip on Lorne's arm and headed for the noise. Lorne shook in his boots, recognizing the sound.

 

"Uhm. Cordy, uh, princess? This is not a good idea, sweetie. That is the Grimm up there. They are dangerous. Really dangerous. We should be a little more cautious." Like running the other way. The Host tried. But the woman was not listening to him, her face contracted in a mask of fury, happy to have some focus for her anger. He was dragged up the flight. Oh, *rats*, this was not going to be pretty.

 

She entered the room pulling the large green demon behind her. Taking in the tableau at a glance. Seven sort of cute, very big and shimmery demons to one side. Standing, tall. Indentical. Two other vamps in the middle of the room, between the strange demons and Angel. Wes and Gunn near them. At the other end, Angel. Seated.

 

Doyle on his lap.

 

Doyle, pale faced and blinking up at the vampire who held him.

 

Doyle.

 

On Angel's lap.

 

*HER* Doyle. Angel uttering words in a horrible sounding tongue. Caressing Doyle's face with his big, masculine, strong, male, vampire hands. She was going to tear them off at the wrists.

 

More grinding noises. Cordy wanted to put her fingers in her ears. *After* she clawed Angel's eyes out for daring to touch her man.

 

Doyle....licking(?)...licking(!) Angel's arm. His mouth bright with...BLOOD???!!! Cordelia reacted. Dropping her hold on Lorne's arm and striding all the way into the room, making for Angel and Doyle.

 

"Allan Francis Doyle, you stop that right now!" She shrieked, hands on her hips. "Angel, let go of him this instant!" Both looked up at her, but didn't stop. Everyone else in the room looked at her, too. But, she was used to being the center of attention. She didn't let it phase her one bit.

 

Lorne groaned very in very sensible terror. He had to do something before the Grimm got angry. An angry Cordelia was bad enough. An angry Grimm and an angry Cordy, he shivered.

 

"Hi, guys." He said when the Grimm turned to him. They ground out words in his direction. And Lorne's healthy green color turned puce. Oh. NO. The Powers wouldn't do this. It was not...

 

Grimm growled at him, this time with a note of warning. Lorne swallowed as Wesley translated so that everyone in the room, including the insane female who was standing, legs spread, high heels planted, hands on hips, glaring at the next vampire lord, the first vampire king in the Americas, understood.

 

"We who stand here, witness the Lord Angelus, eternal son, and his chosen consort." Wesley's eyes, hell Gunn's too, were huge.

 

Lorne went down on one knee, bowing his head.


	35. Chapter 35

  
Author's notes: Spike and his boys. Cordy is still pissed and still the queen.  


* * *

Spike snuggled up close behind his thrall, lowering his head to sniff and nuzzle the nape of Oz's neck. He deposited a soft kiss there. Closing his eyes to savor the feeling. He couldn't resist the temptation to run his nose up behind the young man's ear, and lick at the shell of the ear. Oz let out a tiny squeak of surprise, shivering as he giggled. His body covered head to toe in goosebumps.

 

Spike's hand rubbed against the werewolf's flat belly, moving between Nic and Oz, stroking one with the back of his hand and the other with the palm. Oz's arms tightened around his fellow thrall, and Nic let out a gasp when he felt the growing arousal that was being pressed to his own stomach. Not too large, in proportion with the rest of his body, but hard as a diamond.

 

Then the slim youth rolled back, craning his neck to offer his mouth, keeping one arm around Nic, the other twining back to wrap around Spike's neck, not demanding, just waiting, breath coming quickly, eyes aglow, mouth lifted in patient invitation.

 

Spike bent down and let his mouth brush across Oz's. Feeling the eager tremble as they met. Lovely, lush heat. He could hardly believe what happened to him when he did this. Every time. He felt his heart begin to beat. Air rushing into his lungs. The tingle begin in his thighs rising to build and collect in his groin, but, even more, to settle and grow deep in his chest. Ahhhh. He stroked a knuckle down the lightly freckled cheek.

 

The gentle touch of their mouths, hot and cool as they came together. Lingered, trembling on the edge of breathlessness. No tongue, no open mouths yet, just lips, nibbling at each other, clinging, pressing, innocent, yet full of desire.

 

Spike raised his hands and framed his first thrall's face in between his palms. His fingers stroked, tenderly mapping the features. The edge of lower lip, the one he wanted to take in his mouth and suckle, nibble on. Using his thumb to tug on it, until he saw the soft gleam of pink wetness inside.

 

He let his hands wander. Always gentle as they mapped, tips of fingers petting, tickling, exploring over the slightly pointed chin, pixish jaw, down over the smooth contours of neck, and throat, dipping into the small hollow, ghod!, sexy, and wandering off along one collarbone, to come to the rounded cap of a shoulder, and hold it, feel it fill his palm.

 

Spike's mouth melded to the mouth under his. He kissed. They kissed. And at last, they parted, those hot, full lips, air gasping out, as Spike let his thrall breathe, loving the way the slender body moved under him. Panting. He peppered kisses over the open lips, both cheeks, the tip of his nose...going back to the mouth, hot, wet, inviting. The brush of mouth to mouth deepening, becoming wet and slick, tangled.

 

This time their tongues touched as their mouths joined. Just the very tips, touching, tasting, sliding over one another. Slow, languid, trembling contact. Spike lifted his head. Looked down into the half shut eyes, saw the way Oz strained up, up towards him. Letting out small, needy sounds. Spike shivered, his skin suddenly too tight.

 

"Jesus!" Nic grabbed himself , squeezing hard. He pulled his tight balls away from his body, struggling for control. He was about to blow, from less than five damn minutes watching these two kiss. Just kiss and pet.

 

Seeing how the little man's eyes closed, how he bared his throat, shivering with each, so careful, so worshipful, touch of those firm lips on his own. Spike's fingers holding his head like the most precious thing, guiding their kiss, lips moving, feeding with sweet hunger, and careful love.

 

The vampire turned to Nic when he moaned. Blue-gold eyes distant, then refocusing to see him. Who he was. Nic. But only for an instant. Then the slim, pale arms, Oz's arms, wound up and around the vampire's shoulders. Embracing him closely, tightly. Rubbing their chests together. The platinum haired head lowering, until his teeth lay in the crook of neck and shoulder, grazing the sweat dewed skin.

 

"Oh." It was almost sub-vocal, the startled cry from the man laying on his back. His eyes going wide, his back arching, and Nic could see why. The vampire had his hand down, under the blankets, and Oz moaned at the contact of the hand on him. Lifted his hips.

 

"Spike!" Oz whispered. Urgently. And the vampire swooped down, kissing him wildly, fangs flashing but not cutting, so damn careful. Licking, sensual, long liquid strokes of that mobile tongue. Lapping, then deliberate, nipping teeth. A gasp, and a new coloring, red, as they kissed, their mouths darker, the tang of blood.

 

Oz let out the beginnings of a growl. Spike answered. Nic froze, not understanding why the sound made him moan out loud, instead of run. But it did, he was shaking, rolling his body over to plaster himself against them. His hand curving over the hip of the vampire. It was cool-warm, muscles moving under white skin.

 

Not even the sight of two fang bristling mouths put him off.

 

Unlike the piercing shriek from somewhere outside the room. They froze, all three, Spike's head snapping up. Nic spinning to face the door, heart racing like a trip-hammer. No one came in. But, the shrieking continued. All his arousal was redirected to fight or flight. Limp as a noodle in three seconds flat.

 

"Sod it! Piss poor timing!" Spike was up and out of bed, erect but fading as he shoved himself into his black jeans with sharp irritated movements. "Bleeding inconsiderate it is." Then he threw the door open and dashed out, still swearing. Nic and Oz were left on the bed, Nic crouched low, in front of Oz. He got up, keeping low to the ground, peering outside cautiously, seeing no one. Hearing plenty as the ranting kept on, the volume growing.

 

Nic strode back to the bed looking around,heading for the dresser. "Do I have clothes around here somewhere? I'd really like to be dressed when the mob invades." He didn't see anything of his, nor of a size he could fit comfortably. Oz eyed him.

 

"I think I can find you something."

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Cordelia was livid. She took several steps nearer to Angel, and the light and dark vampires who rose from their knees and moved to intercept her before she could reach him. She shook a finger at him, shoving at the two vamps she didn't know. "Don't you touch him! He is mine, Angel. He was mine before you tried to steal him. He is still mine! Doyle! Tell him."

 

"Cordelia!" Lorne hissed from behind her. "Now is *not* the time." He tried to catch her attention. She ignored him. He scooted forward on his knees. "Princess!"

 

Doyle moaned, curling in on himself. Angel holding him, one hand on the bare curve of his lower back, Doyle hiding his face in the vampire's hip, his hands covering his ears. The half-demon shaking under the weight of each yelled word striking him every bit as hard as a physical blow. Pain tore through him. He couldn't be hers. No matter if it was all he wanted. He no longer had the choice. He sobbed. His beautiful princess.

 

The Grimm watched the growing confrontation with more than a little interest, moving closer as well. They sniffed at the air as they neared the vampires, all their eyes moving towards Alistair as he came closer to them. He didn't notice the attention, the fascination, how they all leaned in, noses pointing at him, he was intent on foiling Cordelia's attempts to get to Doyle, until it was too late.

 

Cordelia advanced until she smacked into Balthazar for the second time, and glared up at him, as if noticing him for the first time. "Excuse me!" She snapped. Then, when he didn't leap out of her way, "How rude! Hello! *Excuse* me?! Will you please move your skinny butt out of my way!?" He looked down at her, stonily.

 

Alistair made to step forward, when the Grimm moved. The entire seven bodies of the demon moved in accord, circling and surrounding the blond vampire, fourteen hands reaching for him. Drawing him in. He flinched as he disappeared into their mass, vanishing from view in the space of a second. His face was stark white, lips compressed as he strained futiley against their combined power. They closed around him absorbing him into them.

 

Gunn started towards the group automatically, once more cursing his lack of weapons, even as Angel quickly set Doyle down, gaining his feet. Balthazar looked from Angel to Cordelia, to the Grimm. Wesley jumped forward, grabbing at the vampire's arm.

 

"No. Don't." Wesley begged. His puplis were dilated. Balthazar brushed his hand off, and pushed Wesley down next to Doyle. Lorne rushed over to them, holding Wesley down on the seat of the chair, slipping his other arm around the weeping Doyle. "Shhhh." The green demon soothed, tucking Doyle's dark head under his chin, and crooning to him. He fought to hold Wesley down next to them, out of harm's way. The Grimm would squash Wes like a bug. "Wes, don't make things worse! Stay out of the way!"

 

Balthazar stared at Lorne, his dark eyes pools of fire, his gaze taking in the green hand on Wesley's chest, he showed the Host a flash of warning fang, then turned away, and followed Angel, reaching his side as Angel plowed into the Grimm. Angel grabbed two of them and heaved.

 

Forcing the demons apart, and seeing Alistair in the center of them, hair down, hanging in a golden-blond wave to his hips. The one Grimm was running honey colored fingers through the silken tresses. For the first time, not moving together as one with the others of the Grimm. The one looked up in mild surprise that Angel had managed to move the rest of the Grimm aside.

 

"Angelus." The one acknowledged the vampire, but having trouble taking his gaze and his attention off of the second vampire he held in his arms. Alistair had managed to draw his knees up, and keep his doubled legs between himself and the enamored demon. A second Grimm reached out, touched the blond hair. Shuffled fluidly closer, scenting the nape of his neck. Alistair resisted, shoving back with a sharp elbow. Then a third moved in, he kicked out. Then all, surging in, tighter. Angel let out a sound of great displeasure, seizing the nearest to him and shoving him aside.

 

"Stop. He is mine, Grimm. Let him go." Angel warned the threat in his voice strong, his eyes flashing ot gold, his face to gameface, and his fang at full extension, an unmistakable message to the other to back off. The Grimm rippled all around him, Balthazar and Gunn forced their way in next to him. The Grimm grumbled unhappily. Sounding like a very big, very sulky child.

 

Gunn wondering just how crazy he was to be doing this as the feeling of claustophobia grew. They all towered over him, big, ang hot, theheat radiating from the close packed bodies. He stayed where he was, next to Angel by sheer force of will. He would have much rather have climbed up out of the crowd, over the top of their heads if need be. But he stayed, back to back with Angel and Balthazar. To save one of Angel's people. For a vampire no less. Yet, when Angel plucked Alistair out of the one's hands, he helped, shouldering his way between the one and the blond.

 

Alistair himself pushed the Grimm back, with both feet and both arms, and away, pressing his back hard into Gunn and Angel, Angel's arm going around his waist. Lifting him up and over a shoulder then forcing his way out. The Grimm reluctantly fell away.

 

"He smells good, son of Aurelius." The Grimm rumbled, gratingly. "We would like to taste him."

 

"No. You can't he is mine." Angel asserted as Gunn and Balthazar worked themselves out of the mass of the demon. The Grimm nodded reluctantly, as if understanding. Gunn blinked. Was the demon *pouting*? He shook his head to clear it. Naw. Couldn't be.

 

"And the other? The Yelling Female? Is she also yours?" The Grimm inquired, the grating tone holding a tinge of hopefulness. Angel frowned. Wesley let out a shout, struggling aginst Lorne's hold. Lorne clapped a hand over the smaller man's mouth.

 

"Hush," The larger demon hissed. "For Pete's Sake! Just be quiet!"

 

"No, she is not...but..." Angel never finished the sentence as the Grimm whirled and converged on the gaping brunette. She let out a piercing shriek, not the first of the day, and everyone cringed, everyone but the Grimm, who rumbled in answer, beaming in delight. Angel was flumoxed by their apparent pleasure in the shrill yells.

 

"Such wonderful fire. Energy! She will be a fine mate. A Queen." The Grimm said, petting her as they held her up over their heads, nearly at the ceiling. Wesley struggled harder, and Lorne rolled over on top of him, using his greater weight to hold the man down.

 

Spike barely leaped out of the way in time to keep from being run down by the seven as they barrelled out of the door. He stared after them, shuddering, no one liked to mess with the keepers, the Grimm. He squinted, they were carrying someone, he saw a flash of expensive high heels, and a very nice ankle, too....Spike hurried into the room the Grimm had just left. He waved an arm over his shoulder, indicating the rapidly disappearing horde.

 

"They took someone..." He began. Looking from pale face to pale face. Even the dark, unsmiling vampire looked out of sorts, stunned. All except the one vampire who stood in the center of it all. His Sire. Angel looked pensive.

 

Angel nodded. "I know." He relied when spike snorted impatiently.

 

"Well, aren't we going to stop them?" The platinum haired vampire asked, puzzled. His Sire always did the right thing, he'd go after anyone and anything to rescue one of his own. It was his biggest weakness. For him to just let them take one of his own...Spike stared.

 

Angel shook his head. "I don't know. I am trying to think if it is a bad thing, or a good thing."

 

Spike was speechless.


	36. Chapter 36

  
Author's notes: Ok, Let's talk......   


* * *

"Sit down. All of you." Angel said still looking out of the room after Cordy and the Grimm's dramatic exit. Spike shifted on his feet, but didn't sit. Angel sighed, rubbing at his forehead, wishing his Childe would just do what he was told to for once. But this was Spike, after all. "What is it, William?"

 

"Uhm, I'd like to get back to my thralls. Had to come out here in a hurry. Left things sort of up in the air." Spike said, his face was blanker than usual, and Angel puzzled over it. Spike wasn't telling him everything.

 

"I'd like to get it cleared up." Spike continued, he resolutely forbade himself to feel guilty because he was desperate to get back and kiss Oz, hold him, make sure both of them were safe. Make sure no nutters had come and tried to grab them. Abduct them, as the young woman who'd just left had been. This place, despite being Angel's, was like grand central. No limit on comings and goings. No security. And that had to change. There were thralls here now, and thralls must be protected. His thralls and Angel's as well.

 

The last thing Spike was going to have happen was letting one of the too frequent visitors make off with one of *his* men. He wasn't about to tolerate that, or to take a chance on it. It was some bizarre quirk of fate that had allowed him to have thralls, and they would only be pried from his cold, dead, *truly dead*, hands. If someone, demon or human, or anything in between tried to run off with Oz...or Nic(Spike growled under his breath), he would track them down and make them pay. In spades.

 

Something in Spike's expression finally communicated itself to Angel. Ah. Spike was fretting over his boys. Not a foolish concern considering. Angel was going to correct a few problems around here. That was going to take some effort. But it was going to be done. He addressed Spike.

 

"Get them if you wish. But, we have things that must be talked over. Dealt with. Don't keep me waiting long. The rest of you, go, lock the hotel down, bolts and wards, then get back here and get comfortable. We will wait for Spike and his thralls. Wesley, can you bring tea? Balthazar, please escort my thralls from my suite." Angel said, pacing while he thought out what to say. "Make sure they are all clothed." He added, remembering Xander had been in partial were-form, and preferred to go naked at that time. He, Angel, did not need the distraction that would cause. Nor did the others.

 

The room's occupants headed out on their various tasks. Gunn close behind the shaky Alistair, watching him, ready to support him with a hand on his arm if need be. But he didn't offer it before it was necessary. Alistair seemed to collect himself as they left the room, growing stronger, quieter, calmer with each step. Gunn felt a spark of admiration ignite in his breast. Wordlessly, he handed the blond vampire the hair clasp that had fallen out of the hip length hair. Alistair gave him a nod of thanks, winding up the thick locks with an effcient, practiced twist of his wrists, and fastening it.

 

Only Lorne stayed behind with Angel and Doyle. He held the half demon on his lap, gently murmuring comforting words. Angel wondered just how much it would take to get Doyle back into some semblance of normalcy, up and functioning. He walked over, went to one knee, reached out and touched the slender shoulder. Let himself run careful fingers over Doyle's silken, dark hair.

 

His consort. Angel had never, in his two and a half centuries, been married, nor even betrothed. Well that record had come to a screeching fall this day. It was the only practical decision he could make under the circumstances. The Hanth'h had been prepared to take huge insult over the marking incident. Angel, king or no king, he groaned at the ridiculous appelation of *that* title in referrence to himself, could hardly afford to have the keepers turned against him. War with the Hanth'h, or taking a reluctant consort. Not a hard choice.

 

So, he had married his friend. Who was in love with another. That was certainly a surprise. Angel had never smelled the slightest whiff of sex on either of them. Never guessed. Doyle had not said specifically that they were sexually involved. Angel wondered just how odd the relationship had been. Did Cordelia allow him sex? Or just permit him to worship from a distance?

 

Trust the demon world to be less prejudiced when it came to marriage and the genders, than the short lived humans. Now he had a husband. He'd never expected to be able to say that. Nor honestly to say that he had a wife. Marrying, it wasn't him. Thanks to the bitch doctor his whole world now rested upside down, teetering, just waiting for another, maybe larger shift and fall.

 

Angel growled unhappily under his breath. He continued to pet Doyle as he thought. He really wished he could extract his revenge on that woman before she did something even worse. He had no doubt she was capable of it. Though, making Dru a master, giving her a thrall...that took the cake. There was simply no way it would work out well. Perhaps Walsh already had managed to do the worst with that one, supremely foolish act.

 

"Doyle?" Angel called. "Doyle? Can you open your eyes?" Lorne and he shared a look as Doyle merely burrowed his face deeper into the larger demon's body, making a sleepy, protesting sound. Angel shrugged. He felt no resistance to his touch. He was not being rejected he surmised. Doyle was only seeking to keep the comfort of Lorne's size and bulk, as well as enjoy Angel's caress. He wanted both. Not to talk. Angel decided he should let Doyle have that much.

 

"We will talk later, Doyle. We have to face it together, do you understand? It will be fine." Angel stayed where he was, crouched down in front of Lorne, stroking Doyle's hair. Of course recent, similar reassurances hadn't turned out quite as he'd anticipated.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike didn't waste any time hurrying to his own suite and entering. The anxiety he'd felt since witnessing the departure of the Hanth'h demanded haste. He came in quickly and found himself facing Nicholas armed with the bar from the bathroom towel rack, crudely sharpened into a point, scowling forbiddingly and fiercely. Spike startled at the expression of angry determination facing him down.

 

The thrall lowered his manufactured weapon warily as he saw it was only Spike who came in. Spike had to admire his Asian thrall's drive to find a semi-suitable weapon. Not that it would have done much good against many demons, but, it would have bought time, and time increased the likelihood of a rescue. Spike vowed to find Nic better armament at his first opportunity.

 

Oz was sitting patiently on the bed, full dressed. Hands folded in his lap, with Nicholas in front of him, staunchly prepared to defend them both. Spike raised a brow at the small lycanthrope. Keeping an alert eye on Nicholas, even though the thrall was not threatening him with his tool.

 

"I am smaller than he is. He insisted he should protect me." Oz answered the raised brow. Smiling at the vampire, welcoming him with his eyes. Spike felt the connection, strong and unbreakable, surge between them. It was nearly enough to drive him to his knees. He wanted to go to Oz lay his head in the man's lap and croon out his love. But Angel would not be patient if he took the time he wanted.

 

"He's dressed." Spike commented, meaning Nicholas, who he had thought had no unsoiled clothes. Now Nic wore jeans, dark blue, rather new, and a well washed flannel shirt, gone wonderfully soft with many washings. The material molded itself lovingly to a very nice chest, somehow more obvious while he was dressed than it had been while he was naked.

 

"I borrowed some of Xander's clothes. He is bigger than you are." Oz told him as Spike turned to look Nicholas over in surprise. Nichols didn't look bigger. But Xander's jeans and shirt fit him perfectly. Which meant that his second thrall was indeed larger than he was, despite looking smaller.

 

"He was worried about what exactly?" Spike asked. Referring to the homemade pike.

 

"Demons. Like the one that just left. The seven men who are one demon." Oz said. "Nic said he'd seen one of them before. A Hanth'h. Bad news."

 

"Hostile 74." Nicholas said when Spike pursed his lips. "A demon composed of anywhere from 2 to 10 physically separate entities, with one consciousness."

 

"Does he know you..." Spike asked after digesting that information. It was a reasonably accurate if very shallow description of a Hanth'h. No mention of the keeper status. He'd decide later if Nic should know that extra bit of info. He was very curious whether or not Nic knew Oz was a werewolf. Considering he had set himself to protect the smaller man, as if not knowing Oz was probably at least three times as strong as he was. And certainly harder to hurt, as well as faster to heal.

 

"No, I don't think so." Oz replied, tearing his attention away from Spike to look at Nicholas with a gentle affection that pinged at Spike's heart. Nicholas, who was trying to follow their conversation, a slight frown marring his face. Knowing he was not getting the full picture.

 

"You think he will let you...." Spike ventured, tilting his head towards the door.

 

"Yes I think so." Oz said standing up. He came up to the vampire, and Spike folded an arm around him, hugging. Oz wrapped his arms around the platinum haired man, and squeezed. Spike grinned, burying his nose in the crook of his thrall's neck, inhaling with zeal. Oh. Yes. Good. Beyond good. Wonderful. Oz-ness.

 

"Good because..." Spike said after a few deep indrawn breaths, nuzzling Oz's wild, spiky, red hair.

 

"We'd better not keep him waiting, then." Oz interrupted, as Spike held out his free arm to Nicholas. The soldier eyed it, and the vampire warily, but he stepped closer, unable to fight the compulsion to touch the vampire. Spike. Hostile 17. Spike sniffed at him. At his throat having to lift his nose to do it. By damn, the man was bigger than he! He could see it up close and upright. He'd been so sure.....

 

"What are you two talking about?" Nic asked irritably, bending to allow Spike greater access to his throat. "Can't you at least speak in full sentences when I am around? So I have some prayer of understanding what the hell you are saying?"

 

Spike looked at the bewildered, and annoyed thrall. "Thank you for protecting him, appreciate it, mate. Can't tell you how much. Angel wants to talk to all of us. Explain things a bit, I think. Oh, and Oz is a werewolf." Spike pulled Nicholas over and led him out of the door. "I think you better put that down." He pointed at the metal bar. "Peaches won't take kindly to seeing you are breaking apart his hotel."

 

"I needed something to use as a defense." Nic snarled. "And who the hell is Peaches? What kind of a name is that? And what do you mean Oz is a werewolf? What kind of joke is that?"

 

"Peaches is my bloody poof of a Sire." Spike informed him cheerfully. "But best not call him that. He goes by Angel now."

 

"But he used to call himself Peaches?" Nicholas sounded incredulous. He had a very clear idea of the kind of man who would call himself Peaches. He envisioned lame and floating, pastel silk. He felt a little ill. Effeminate men gave him the willies.

 

"Nope. I call him Peaches. Used to be Liam." Spike said. "But ya better not call him that, either." He grinned wickedly. "I suppose Your Poofiness is out as well."

 

Nic stared. Enough off kilter to let Spike throw an arm around him and lead him down the stairs in a half embrace.

 

Oz shook his head, rolling his eyes indulgently. "Spike." He chided the widely grinning vampire.

 

"What do you mean, he's a werewolf?" Nic repeated. Spike ignored him, grinning like a hound as he dragged them blithely into the meeting room.


	37. Chapter 37

  
Author's notes: the meeting begins.  


* * *

Spike whisked Nic and Oz into the meeting area, taking care to choose a couch that was a little off to one side. He wanted his thralls out of grabbing range. He fussed and got the two of them settled, then placed himself between them and the rest of the group. When he looked up he saw Angel and most everyone else watching him. Most with curiosity, his Sire with a kind of grim humor. He lifted his shoulder in a one sided shrug, but made sure his smile flashed fang. A little friendly warning never went amiss.

 

Oz wiggled up behind him so that they touched and Spike let out a pleased sigh. He wasn't sure if it was because Oz wanted to touch him, thought that Spike needed to be touched, or another reason, but he was pleased to feel the contact. Nic was sitting behind Oz, directed there by Spike, but he looked nonplussed to be the one furthest away from harm. It was a position he was not very familiar with.

 

Nic was most interested in his friends. He knew enough from talking to Oz that they were bound to Angel. As Angel's thralls they were gathered around his large chair, sitting and sprawling all around his feet, except for Graham, who sat on the arm of his chair. Nic frowned. Spike had called his Sire Peaches. There was no one in the room who he'd call Peaches, by any stretch. Angel was...had to be...the strongly handsome man with incredible lips, in the chair surrounded by Finn, Miller and the other man. Peaches? No way, not in a thousand years would he call the man, the *vampire*, Peaches. Spike was nuts.

 

Nic transferred his attention to the other individual in a chair. A large, spare framed, green skinned demon with fire red eyes, and a genial expression. He was not in the chair alone. The small person in the green demon's lap, was held carefully, the big male soothing the one with low murmurs and a caressing hand. Gentle. Nic couldn't fault him for that. He was curious who it was. A girlfriend? All he could see of the blanket wrapped bundle was a shock of short, nearly black hair. If it was a man, then he was slight enough. If a woman...well...that would be almost too normal now wouldn't it?

 

The slim man with glasses had served the others and now came over to Spike, offering all of them refreshment. Spike quivered with joy when he received the tea and sweet biscuits. Oz never hesitated, only Nic looked unconvinced of the safety of the beverage. His stomach let out a huge growl. He eyed the piled plates of fruit and cookies. His mouth watered.

 

Oz leaned over to him, whispering in his ear. "It is OK, Nic. It smells normal, there isn't anything in it but tea. The cookies are safe, too." He said quietly. Nic's stomach rumbled again as if to catch his attention and alert him to it's urgency. The soldier accepted a plate and a cup, with extra sugar. He could almost hear his mother chiding him. Good tea did not need sugar. It was bad for his teeth, he shouldn't drink it. It would stunt his growth. He almost smiled, then remembered where he was, surrounded by strangers, who, last month, he'd have locked up and stood guard over, heavily armed. Hell, he might have shot them.

 

Now he hadn't even the crude pike he'd made to use in self defense. Spike insisted it would not be the right note to meet the others with. Reluctantly Nic had left it behind.

 

Graham met the other soldier's gaze, lifting his chin a fraction in greeting. Nic was glad to see that Grey and Ri looked healthy. The other man, one he'd only seen in pictures during the daily briefings at the Initiative, he recognized as Alexander Harris, maybe 19 or 20 now. That one was straining against the tall, dark and brooding man seated in the chair. Not fighting precisely, more not wanting to be inhibited from wandering off. He was paying a lot of attention the tall green demon who was holding the smaller man, who now that his face was uncovered, looked entirely human. Harris seemed intent on going over to the pair. Nic couldn't tell if the human in the demon's lap was awake or not.

 

The big demon kept a jaded eye on Harris, who let out a whine so akin to a dog's, Nic felt himself shiver. In light of Oz's revelation, it wasn't too hard to think maybe Harris wasn't human, either. So. Everyone was suspect. Nic looked up at Finn and Miller. Oh, boy. Them, too? This was just so wrong. Movement at the door coming from the hall diverted his thoughts.

 

A tall, muscular, black man, young, with a gleaming, shaved head came into the room, followed by two others. One with dark creamy brown skin, a face of pure sin, and the darkest, chilled eyes Nic had ever seen, Hostiles included. The man serving tea became very still. Nic looked at him in concern, but it wasn't fear in the man's face it was something.... Nic almost reached out to steady him, as he swayed, thinking he was about to fall.

 

The other new man, the blond, was a reserved, cool beauty, his face sculpted, aesthetic, like a master work carved in living, breathing marble, a saint in contemplation. He looked over at Spike meeting the vampire's gaze, and then Oz's and Nic's. He otherwise did not react. The darker man, vampire, Nic guessed, shot them a cold, assessing look. The tea cup and saucer trembled against each other, a faint rattle as the bespectacled man offered it to Nic, unable to keep from glancing over to the dark vampire as he did. Nic took it, as much to save the man from dropping it as any other reason. He took the heaped plate of fruit as well.

 

Riley was sitting, his back touching along the big man's leg, his posture telegraphing his discomfort. Nic looked more closely and saw that long fingers played with Riley's blond hair, at the nape of his neck. When their eyes met again, Riley was flushed, a faint redness to his cheeks, and his expression, was conflicted. Half a guilty enjoyment, half self-conscious.

 

Fingers slid around so they were actually in view, tilting Riley's head back, exposing the long line of his throat to the touch. Nic was astonished. He'd not even seen Finn touch his girlfriends so intimately in company. Ri was a private man, not given to public demonstrations. Pure church going, middle American, Iowa farm boy. But the fingers kept skimming over him and he made no move to stop the movement, just blushed. Not even when they ran along his shoulder and collarbone under his shirt. Nic saw the small, male nipples tighten, pressing against Riley's shirt. Holy cow!

 

Nic suddenly wondered if Spike was going to try to touch him like that. At this moment it was actually Oz who was doing the touching, laying up against Spike's back looking over his shoulder. Nic wasn't going to just take it if the vampire tried for PDA's. He deserved some dignity. Maybe it'd be OK for Spike to touch him in private, Nic still hadn't made up his mind as far as that went, but not in front of strangers. Not laying some kind of crude sexual claim. Uh, uh. Not petting him like a...he shook his head. Riley's face burned darker red, correctly interpreting the other soldier's thought as their gazes caught and held. Nic felt really bad for him.

 

Graham shifted on his perch, moving to tangle his feet around Harris, appearing to aid the big vampire in keeping him from crawling over to where his current interest lay. Graham, now, he'd always been hard to read. No girlfriends, but no interest in any men, not that Nic had seen. Grey always kept a distance, yet had a secure sense about him, and no one doubted he would care for them when it was needed, he'd watch your back, keep you safe, get you away if you were injured. Graham would take care of you. He never left anyone behind.

 

What Nic did not see, was anyone he'd think of as a man named Peaches. Certainly not the one he'd decided was Angel. He waited to see what would happen next.

 

"William." The big man said. And Nic was startled a bit to hear Spike answer to that name.

 

"Sire." Spike responded. Shifting, his chin lifting from his blatant enjoyment of his steaming cup of tea.

 

"Introduce your thralls." Angel prompted him, as the dark vampire found his seat, and the blond man, taking the place right next to him, the youthful black man standing behind them. Nic saw the axe for the first time. It was an intimidating piece of weaponry. With huge double blades.

 

"Oz and Nicholas. This is my Sire, Liam, now known as Angel. My Da. Angel, these are my thralls, Oz and Nicholas." Spike said quickly, still inhaling his tea, his eyes half closed.

 

"Son of Aurelius. Lord of LA." The mellifluous voice of the green one added into the brief pause. Rather dramatically, like an actor might, a Shakespearean one. Nic frowned. Was he serious?

 

"What?!" Spike asked, clearly shocked, at least as surprised as Nic, maybe more. Spike was taking the announcement seriously.

 

"The Hanth'h acknowledged him as vampire ruler of Los Angeles." The demon added. "I am Lorne by the way, the Host." He explained to the puzzled Nic and rapt Oz. He somehow managed to bow while seated in his chair, holding the other securely.

 

"The keepers called him...the ruler?" Spike blurted out, almost angrily, definitely scared by the revelation. "Why the sodding hell for?"

 

"Son of Aurelius, only vampire king on American soil. Ruler of Los Angeles, only new world member of a full blood circle, husband to the royal consort, Francis Allen Doyle." The dark vampire announced haughtily, his deep, southern accent the only time Nic had ever heard Creole sound frigid, instead of slippery, sliding and warm.

 

Nic's head was spinning. Frances Ellen Doyle? He looked around, checking again, but not seeing any women. Perhaps she was not let out in such company as this. Maybe she was protected from the males that filled this house. Spike hadn't mentioned any of this.

 

"Doyle? You've gone and married the seer? Right bloody nutter you are, Peaches. Why would you do a thing like that?" Spike grated out, his tone tight and disapproving.

 

"Be quiet, William. The demons insisted it was...required." Angel said, his cool voice never the less carrying a clear threat. "My thralls, Graham, Riley, and Xander. My vampires Balthazar and Alistair. Then there is Wesley, and Gunn. Lorne has introduced himself. Doyle is on his lap. Now. Settle down. There are more important things to talk of."

 

Nic stared. His skin rippled with the commanding tone, he wanted to throw himself at the broody man's feet. He shook himself, trying to distract himself with dripping, cool slice of pineapple.

 

"First item that must be addressed. Thralls. Spike and I have them. Alistair and Balthazar will need them soon. They need to be more powerful in order to combat the forces that will move against us. I will search for candidates." His brown eyes shifted to Gunn. The dark skinned man stiffened visibly. "I would like for you to consider if you are amenable to either Balthazar or Alistair. I'd like to keep the power in the family so to speak."

 

"No. I will be Balthazar's thrall. He is mine." Wesley said, loudly. Walking over to stand behind the vampire he was talking about. That left the blond to be Alistair. Angel shook his head, feet now planted, along with Graham's, on the back of the restless Harris.

 

"I will choose. It is an important step, based on more than lust, Wes. The wrong thrall will not enhance a vampire's power as much as the right partner." Angel reiterated. But the slim man shook his head, taking a step towards the forbidding vampire, so he was pressed up against the back of the couch.

 

"No, Angel, I will not stand by as watch someone else bind to him." There was a note of conviction and a thread of hysteria in the adamant reply. Angel merely looked at him, as if thinking, the silence stretching.

 

"I am not gay." Gunn said into the tension. "I can't be a thrall to either of these guys."

 

Angel actually laughed at that. "I am not gay, Gunn. Riley, Xander, Graham?" He turned to his thralls.

 

"No." Graham shook his head. Voice calm as always, pure Graham Miller.

 

"No." Riley's voice was almost too emphatic. He was shaking his head. Angel stroked the back of his neck. Which in Nic's view was a direct contradiction to his answer to Angel's question, for both vampire and man. Straight guys didn't go around touching like that.

 

Xander didn't reply, merely rubbed his cheek against Angel's other hand. Angel petted him. "So, perhaps one out of four, or none out of five. Spike?"

 

"You know I am a lady's man for the most part, Peaches." Spike grinned widely. "Oz? Nic?"

 

"I'm bi." Oz said, confidently, not worried about being the only one so far who had made the confession. The way he felt about Spike had answered the question for him, regardless of his past. Spike looked into those lovely eyes. Ghod, he was so fucking in love with this man. Oz smiled back.

 

"Well I am straight." Nic said, aggressively. He didn't want anyone to think he wasn't. Someone wanting to fuck him up the ass didn't mean *he* was gay.

 

"It isn't about sex. It is about power, consolidating it, and controlling it. Bonding." Angel explained further. "We can't afford to be squeamish about this, Gunn. Think about it, from a practical standpoint. We have fought against the evil that wants to live unmolested in the world. Now we have a chance to do more. It is a worthwhile sacrifice."

 

"I've heard what goes on in your rooms, Angel. You can't honestly say that is not about sex. Maybe not 100%, I'll give you that, but, you are having sex with your thralls." Gunn looked from Alistair to Balthazar. He didn't want to have either man, uh, vampire take him to bed. He didn't trust Balthazar, and he knew the fight to take what Wes saw as his rightful place would be spectacular.

 

As for Alistair. Well he sort of did like the vamp. But having sex with him was a far cry from friendly feelings. On the other hand he understood the point Angel was trying to make. They needed to add to their arsenal to survive the demons and rival vamps who would be coming to fight them. Stronger opponents. He didn't doubt they were coming. As far as a strategic move, well, his being a thrall was a good move, a solid idea. He just didn't know if he could do it. The sex part. He'd never even looked at another guy that way. Not curious, not experimental. He liked women, and he knew it, was happy with it.

 

"I gotta think about it." Gunn said at last. For some reason not able to say no outright.

 

"The next point. I will bind all the thralls with my blood." Angel nodded to Gunn. Accepting that he needed time to consider the question. The new statement brought a strong reaction from Angel's Childe.

 

Spike was on his feet, glowering, defiant. "No way. Not my thralls. Only my blood passes their lips."

 

"William, don't be tiresome. My blood will protect them. I won't try to take them from you. Just give them blood to bind them into my Household." Angel said. Spike shook his head.

 

"Abso-fucking-lutely not. You are not laying one fang on my thralls while I am on my feet and fighting."

 

Oz was up and behind Spike winding his arms around the vampire's waist. "He won't hurt us, Spike. It is just to keep us safe." He said quietly, hugging the agitated vampire. Spike shuddered, his hands going to cover the small ones that held on to him. He glanced over behind him, locating Nic who was still seated, safe, but now more nervous than ever.

 

"It is not up for negotiation, William."

 

"Angel. I am asking, I am begging you not to do this."

 

"You will deny them the protection I can give them? You will risk their health and safety? Because you are afraid I will take them from you? Take your place as their master? William. Spike. I am your Sire. What is yours is mine. Bring them to me." Angel said his voice growing, filling the room, carrying an actual weight, force.

 

"Ghod damn it, no." Spike groaned out. Even as he took a step towards Angel. Bringing Oz and Nicholas with him. Nic resisted, pulling back against the fearsome grip of the platinum haired vampire.

 

Oz lay a hand on the Asian man's arm. He shook his head, mouthing the words, 'don't fight him, please.' He wished he could explain to Nic that is was just like pack politics and hierarchies, nothing to get too upset over. Nic's eyes were huge as he was dragged along.

 

Spike went down on his knees in front of Angel. Pulling Nic and Oz with him. Nic still trying to pry the hard, white fingers from his wrist. Spike was wild eyed, panting and gnashing his teeth, in full gameface, fighting the need to obey his Sire. This new and improved version, the one he could feel the compulsion from. The one he couldn't fight.

 

Angel leaned down, cupping Spike's face. "William. My word that I am not going to hurt you and yours. They are yours. I won't take them from you. I swear it to you, my Childe." He raised his finger to his mouth and bit it, then held it out to Spike. Despite being utterly furious, and panicked, Spike took the finger in his mouth and sucked at it greedily.


	38. Chapter 38

  
Author's notes: The meeting conitnues, with all around binding.   


* * *

Spike drew hard on the bleeding finger. He wished he had the strength to spit it out, to howl at his Sire, to refuse to obey. He wished he didn't want to catch every drop of that rich blood. That he wouldn't crawl on his knees to lick it up if it should fall. But he wanted it. Craved it, and while Angel allowed it, offered it, he would take it. Inside he screamed his rage and frustration. Outside he scooted forward on his knees closer and closer to his Sire, dragging his own thralls with him, until he was between Angel's thighs, nursing that bloody finger and not even trying to hold back his moans of repletion.

 

Angel at last pulled the finger out of his Childe's mouth. He touched Spike's face, lifted his chin. "Now that wasn't so bad was it, William? Give me your thralls. I will give them the same protection I have just given you. No more, no less. My word. They deserve that don't they? Now give them to me."

 

Spike tried not to. He fought even as his hands drew Nic closer, Nic who kept struggling, eyes wide enough to show the whites of his eyes all around his irises. Angel reached out, a large pale hand, looping his grasp around the back of the thrall's neck. Pulling him in close, dark eyes meeting dark eyes, intense, burning as Angel's flashed gold for an instant. Nic drawn up, between Spike and Angel, held in the V of Angel's thighs, surrounded, Spike pressed to his back, Nic's elbows on Angel's belly, his hands trying to push away. Nic let out a whimper, like a mouse under a cat's paw. Angel bit his finger again. Extended it. Nic gagged at the sight of dripping blood moving nearer to his mouth. He tried to wrench himself away. Angel painted the blood across his lips.

 

Then Nic smelled it. Glorious scent. Coppery, rich and sweet. Salty tang. He licked his lips, opened his mouth and let the drops fall on his tongue. His eyes closed his lips formed around the finger, he melted into the vampire in front of him, squirmed, felt Spike, blessed sanity behind him, anchoring him, as he drank down the blood that filled every corner of his being with a subtle, unmistakable power. He felt the glow seeping into his every cell, he clawed at Angel's torso, pulling at his shirt, heard the buttons pop. Then he was lifted away, back to the safety of his master's arms, Spike crooning to him. Nic holding on for dear life to the cool skin of his vampire. Happy to be away from the frightening well of power that was Angel.

 

Oz was calm about the whole thing, coming up to the ruler, and tilting back his head, averting his eyes after a brief moment of eye contact, acknowledging that this was his king, his alpha, his pack leader, by lowering his gaze, bending his neck, waiting to do the will of the pack leader. Angel took his face in a gentle hand. He smiled when Oz looked at him.

 

"You understand, don't you? Drink." His voice held none of the compulsion. It was kind and benevolent. Oz took the finger into his mouth and suckled at the flow of fluid filling his mouth. He drank without hurry, without fear. Accepting the will of the vampire. He felt only peace and certainty of his place in this new group, this new pack. Spike was his master. This was his king. The two were not in conflict, they supported each other. He let this knowledge fill his gaze as he looked up at Angel. Angel nodded. Pulled his finger away. Ran a hand over Oz's head. "Good. Share what you know with them." Then he pushed Oz back into Spike's shaking arms. Spike almost snatching him away, scuttling backwards rapidly, out of reach.

 

"That is all, William. The thralls are yours. You are mine. My Childe, and you are of value to me. And as they are of value to you, they are of value to me." Angel waited as Spike and his thralls re-took their couch, huddling together, examining each other, reassuring themselves that all was OK.

 

Xander let out a dissatisfied sound, climbing up into Angel's arms. Angel held him.

 

"Please. I want the blood. You gave it to them." Xander said against the side of Angel's neck, picking up Angel's hand, licking it. His gazed up with large brown eyes, hunger winking in them. Hungry, yes, but waiting for his master's permission before biting.

 

"Then by all means feed." Angel replied, holding out his hand. Xander bit him. Worried fangs into soft, white flesh and lapped up the resultant flow. Angel felt the thrill of pain, then the pleasure of the feeding, the song of desire to bond that always was just under the surface when his thralls were near. He wanted to carry Xander to the floor, spread him and take him, audience be damned. But he could not, not until all in this room were bound to him. Angel raised his eyes from Xander's face.

 

"Wesley. There is only one way that you may bind to any vampire that is mine. You must bind to me first. The choice is yours. I do not promise that you will be Balthazar's thrall. But regardless, binding to me will give you added protection. The same goes for Gunn. This binding in no way obligates you to agreeing to become a thrall. It does convey the protection of my House."

 

Angel watched the emotions flit across Wesley's face. He saw how deeply Wes wanted the binding, not with Angel, though he did not object to it, the binding to Balthazar was what he truly wanted. Angel transferred his perusal to the dark vampire. Balthazar's eyes burned back at him, golden in his dark face. His face gave away nothing of his own desires. Angel held out his hand.

 

"Come to me, Balthazar." Angel said, his voice low, taking on the tones of seduction and command this particular vampire needed. Balthazar was on his feet, striding across the floor and at Angel's feet in a matter of seconds, his lightweight-wool covered knees hitting the carpet with a thump. The older vampire looked down at him. Balthazar never flinched, his eyes still gold, he waited, then he licked his lips. Angel smiled at that and slipped his finger into the dark man's mouth, grazing it deliberately on one of the sharp fangs. Blood spurted into Balthazar's mouth. He wrapped both hands around Angel's arm and held tight, his mouth hard around the base of the digit he fed on.

 

Balthazar fed. Quickly, with long swallows, taking the maximum he could get, as fast as he was able. He stopped when Angel ordered, pulling away, obviously reluctant, his wish to continue finally showing in his expression when he pulled back, moved back, on his heels then on his feet, he returned to his seat next to Alistair, in front of Wes. Wesley put a trembling hand on his shoulder, and Balthazar stiffened, but didn't dislodge the hand.

 

Alistair rose without being bidden, moving to Angel with light grace, kneeling, bowing his head, then raising his eyes to meet Angel's. He waited, hands clasped in front of him, gaze fixed on his master's face. His odd colored green eyes were intent. Angel leaned in.

 

"Your hair. Let it down for me." Angel murmured, and Alistair obeyed at once, shaking his long blond tresses free of it's clasp, until it fell around his hips like a cloud of pale, shimmering silk. "Ahhh." Angel brushed his fingers through it. Alistair sighed, an almost imperceptible shiver racing through him. His face lifted in peaceful patience, welcoming the sensation of strong, careful fingers threading though his hair. His face was serene. Angel bit his finger and bent down, Alistair's mouth opening without being bidden as Angel placed it on his tongue.

 

Alistair let the blood fill his mouth, trickle down his throat, drinking it as it filled him, passively. Angel let his hand rest on the other's throat, feeling each swallow, as each mouthful was taken in. He felt the slow warming of the vampire's skin as the blood filled him. Alistair's tongue licked his finger, once, twice, then gradually pulled away, the wounds healed. Angel sat back and watched as Alistair backed away, gathering his hair, twisting it up and refastening it. Angel looked up.

 

"Gunn? Wesley?" Angel held out both his hands. Gunn seemed to make up his mind all at once, slipping his axe into it's sheath and striding over to Angel, his friend. One who he had fought next to for years. One who he trusted. It was odd to think that he was about to taste the vampire's blood, and not the other way around. Gunn had considered the possibility that at some point Angel would be injured and need blood to heal. He had asked himself if he would give it. He had surprised himself with the quick affirmative. If Angel or any other vampire who fought beside him needed blood, he would donate. Just as he would give blood if a friend was hospitalized. Sure, this was more...visceral, more direct, but it was no different. Except, it was Angel, a vampire giving him blood to keep him safe.

 

Angel punctured his finger, extended it, and Gunn forced himself not to think too hard, before putting the finger in his mouth. It was an odd taste, meaty, salty, oddly sweet, and very raw. Thickening on his tongue. He swallowed. Not too difficult, and not disgusting. He had always imagined drinking blood would feel wrong. It didn't. It was...better than that. It was almost like...drinking down life itself. He felt the energy filling his belly, warming it, he had thought it would feel cold, lifeless, but it was warm, spreading like a subtle spice, like heat though him.

 

Gunn was still analyzing the feeling when he felt a hand touch the top of his head. He heard Angel calling his name, as if from a great distance. He quickly let the finger fall from his mouth and backed up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd gotten lost in the experience. He wondered if that was what happened to vampires, or, was it even worse for them? Harder to control? He'd always thought that they deliberately lost control, made no effort to contain their need. That they were weak, evil. Perhaps it wasn't so simple after all.

 

Wesley came out from behind the couch, feet dragging, but a look of determination on his face. He stopped in front of Angel. Then very slowly he went to his knees. Angel waited. Wesley fighting with his resistance. Then steeling his jaw and nodding at the vampire. Angel gave him the finger, let Wesley raise it to his mouth and taste it. Wesley drank, but not more than a few swallows. Then he pulled back, unable to meet Angel's eyes. His body was trembling, his skin raised in goose bumps, his nipples hard nubs, and his arousal plain in his pants. He lowered his hands to cover that telling evidence and he backed away, face flaming.

 

Angel turned to Lorne, letting Wesley have the illusion of privacy as he hid behind the couch and Balthazar. Lorne was watching, and wasn't at all surprised when Angel turned his attention to him.

 

"I am pretty hard to kill." The Host said. "I could accept your blood as a symbol of our friendship, but I think it might create a few more problems with the other demons if I did. So, perhaps not." Angel nodded his agreement.

 

"Bring me my consort." He said and Lorne stood easily bearing the smaller demon's weight. Angel reached up and took Doyle. He cradled him, Xander whining, and trying to nuzzle in. Angel shushed Xander. Graham enfolding his fellow thrall, bearing him to the ground where Riley helped to hold him.

 

"Doyle." The emerald green eyes fluttered, then opened. Angel skimmed his fingers over the smooth cheek. Doyle blinked. Angel bit his finger, let the blood fall in big, wet drops onto the pale mouth of his consort. Doyle let out a gasp, his lips parting, his tongue flickering, encountering the blood, his gaze becoming alert, focused.

 

"I will never refuse you my blood." Angel re-affirmed. "My blood is yours for the asking. Take it." Doyle fastened his hand over Angel's, his skin rippling red, then green, his teeth changing from human blunt to demon sharp, denting Angel's flesh. His eyes fading to their eerie green-black orbs of his demon form. Then he flickered back to his human guise, his mouth pursed around Angel's finger, sucking. Gentle, harmless.

 

Angel stood, Doyle cradled against his chest. "There is more to discuss, but not now. Now there are other things that need doing." His eyes traveled to his Childe, and the thralls next to him. Then to his own thralls. He jerked his head towards the door. "Come." He said and they trailed out after him.

 

Spike was next, wasting no time in sweeping his thralls out ahead of him, snarling at anyone who looked at him, or them.

 

Gunn was left standing next to Wes, who was totally mesmerized by the glance Balthazar gave him. Gunn made to step closer, make sure Wes was alright. A cool hand on his bicep stopped him. He looked down into spring green eyes.

 

"Please. Will you talk with me?" Alistair asked him. Gunn was surprised not to feel any threat from the touch. He as a rule did not like vampires or any other demons too close, with the obvious exception of Angel, Doyle and Lorne. Now it seemed he could also tolerate Alistair. He nodded.

 

"Fine. Let's talk." He decided to leave Wes to handle his own problem. Wes was an adult. It was his decision, his choice. Gunn had to let that go. Though he swore if Balthazar hurt the other man....he'd pay. Gunn followed Alistair out of the room.


	39. Chapter 39

  
Author's notes: Re-grouping...re-bonding...heck it's sex, alright?! Spike, Nicholas, and Oz. Sigh.  


* * *

By the time Spike had reached the door to his suite, he had one thrall over each shoulder, and was moving at a dead run. He skidded to a stop, peripherally aware that he was in gameface, and fumbled at the door, then kicked it when it wouldn't open easily. Oz managed to get a hand on the knob, and turn it, so that at the second kick the door flew open. Spike stormed inside and slammed the door shut, dropping his thralls to the carpet.

 

He pulled the heavy, old, wooden dresser over to brace against the door, and then dragged the mattress off the bed, and added the bed frame to the barricade. He was shaking by the time he was done. Adrenaline burning a path through his body.

 

As a rule he tried not to get upset to this degree. He'd done it once or twice in recent history. The last time was due to Buffy, and her rejection of him, when he'd loaded a shot gun and lay in wait for her. Course then he'd felt fucking foolish, when he ended up comforting her and lending an ear instead of killing his third Slayer, this time intending to blow a hole through her. She'd been so distressed she didn't even notice the gun across his knees as he'd listened to her agonies.

 

It had made him see himself from a new perspective, that experience. Losing his temper was not helpful. But it had scorched away the last of his romantic feelings for her. He should have known better. She was a child compared to him. And he'd gone all moony over her. He'd sighed and forced himself to think it all through.

 

They weren't a good match. She was human, well as human as a Slayer could be, he wasn't. She was excitable, and not a good survivor. She survived only because she was the Slayer, not because she thought out her plans, saw all threats and prepared for them. No, she pummeled her way through her obstacles. He was excitable, too, and that made them bad for each other. No one to stay calm and in control. Especially when he, a vamp, wanted to live through this. She might strike out at him in a fit of rage, killing him, rationalizing it as ridding the world of a rapacious pest.

 

The way Spike looked at it, when he really thought about it, she was a murderer and he was a murderer. Both doing what they were bred and trained to do. She murdered demons, some good some bad. He murdered humans. Some good, some bad. It sort of put him and Buffy at an impasse, one that would never be dealt with, never be solved to the point that they could truly be friends. They could pretend. Sure enough. But Buffy wouldn't admit that she was a killer. She thought of herself as an exterminator, and didn't lose sleep over whether or not those she killed deserved to die. They were demons of one ilk or another. She killed them. End of story. At least Spike ate what he killed.

 

Now here Spike was shaking with the reaction of what had gone down with his Sire. He was burning with rage and fear and terror for himself and for his thralls. And this time he didn't have a tiny human girl to escalate him, he had a small werewolf to save him. Oz never hesitated to go to him, not even when he was pacing, agitated and out of control, snarling indiscriminately, slashing at the empty air. Nic was on the mattress, holding his crudely made pike. Damn. Spike needed to get him something else, something better.

 

Oz didn't stay out of reach, he went right to the pacing vampire and hugged him. He buried his face in Spike's chest. Spike was sweating, probably for the first time in half a hundred years. Oz just held him, and Spike swung him up in his arms. Cradling him, face fierce.

 

"It's OK. We are OK. Shhhh." Oz was murmuring over and over. Spike realized he was growling, a low continuous sound, his fangs bristling in his mouth. Oz's hand stroked him, along his shoulder and his neck. Over the ridges of his face. And the touch began to calm him. He faded back to human guise. Held on to Oz with all the strength in his body, yet kept from crushing him with the intensity of the rising emotion. His arms were like steel around the small, compact body.

 

Angel had kept his word. This time. He had returned Spike's thralls, not trying to claim them, or use them, or use Spike by threatening them. He'd also made sure Spike knew who was in charge. But he'd offered Spike a place. Made it clear that Spike was his Childe. That hadn't happened in a long, long time.

 

Spike carried Oz over to the mattress on the floor, blankets pillows and sheet strewn over it haphazardly. He lowered the trim body to the surface, and followed him down. Sighing, a great, gusty sigh of relief, his whole body trembling as he decompressed, as he acknowledged his thralls were safe and here with him. He snaked out an arm and pulled Nic in tight next to himself and Oz. Nic let out a grunt but went with the pull. His pike fell to the carpet, it's impact muted.

 

Oz was here, under him. Spike nuzzled into the warm neck desperately. He kissed that revered and salty skin, groaning out his anxiety, worry and care. Oz petted him. Kissed the top of his head. Held him. Nic lay next to them, tight to their bodies, arm looped over them, wary but not trying to get away, only inches from the kissing, and the whispered, sometimes nonsensical words.

 

"Oz." Spike said. "Oz." He kissed the werewolf's cheek. Grabbed his hair, pressed them together, rubbing, licking and kissing.

 

"I am right here. We are right here." Oz answered back. Gentling Spike with his touch.

 

Spike kissed him again, this time on his lips. Long and lingering, opening his eyes and looking down into the face blurred by proximity, and felt his heart swell. Whimpering, Spike turned to Nic, drawing him near, kissing him, hot, long, and deep. Nic's first reaction was to rear back, push away, put distance between them, but he surged forward, grabbing Spike's hair, holding him, kissing him, hard, moaning, his hand, the one not buried in platinum hair, gripping Spike's pants at the back of the waistband. He flexed, his whole body straining with a need that he didn't understand. A need to be one with the vampire. A need to see Spike's needs were met. His mouth blossomed, accepting Spike's tongue, nursing on it. Spike's flavor, his taste replacing the taste of Angel's potent blood.

 

Spike drove his tongue deep into Nic's mouth. He tasted Angel, but mostly he tasted Nic. The heady flavor of his thrall. Calling to him. Seducing him. He fumbled at the button and zipper of Nic's jeans, almost tearing them open, Nic helping, sliding them down his legs, to his calves, kicking them off, bare from the waist down, rubbing against Spike's own black jeans.

 

Spike rose up, shedding his clothes, tearing the t-shirt when it wouldn't simply disappear from between them. He smelled the arousal coming from his largest thrall. He smelled the urgency, the lust, the desire. He scented the overwhelming release of pheromones. And then he smelled oil. Felt Oz's hand on him, stroking him, stroking Nic. Spike growled.

 

Oz burrowed in to take Spike's mouth in the sweetest kiss the vampire could recall. A licking of lips, tongue, and wetness. Lips clinging together, sticking like honey, feeding and needing, between them the feeling of such intense rightness, and belonging. Oz's hand on him was heaven. He was hard, diamond hard, with Nic's legs up, around his hips, gripping his ass, and he was driving in. Into heat. Tight. Unfurling to accept him.

 

Spike let out a sound of pain, and hunger, and claiming. Nic echoed him, hunching up, closer, his legs wider, his heels digging into the backs of Spike's buttocks. Christ, he was hot, nearly burning inside, on the vampire's much cooler flesh. Spike went in further, a harsh stroke, hitting bottom, hearing Nic howl at the unexpected thrust. Then sobbing against his face as Spike never paused, riding him, taking him, ripping into his neck with all four fangs, tearing. Drinking him down. Then healing the jagged tears with soothing little licks of tongue on skin.

 

He left the bloody imprint of his lips all over the light brown-ivory of Nic's skin. Then he licked those marks away. Savoring each smear of his thrall's holy blood. Like a blessing on his tongue. Strength pouring into him, far out of proportion to the liquid life he took in. Nic gasping and moaning in reaction, his body rippling around Spike, until the vampire's eye rolled back in his head and he had to let go of all his control. Spike piercing into his body, plundering, filling him with cool, hard flesh, taking him higher, and higher, until he screamed, long and loud.

 

"Oh, baby." Spike cooed, almost breathless. "Nicky, nicky, nicky." He drove in, pulled out, drove in, felt fingernails digging into his hips, his back. Nic wailing, begging, keening his insane need to come, to reach the peak and tumble over, to release all the pent up pressure. But Spike rode him. Pounding into him, plunging, shocking his body with each stroke, his body giving up, weeping, scrabbling at the vampire's bare shoulders.

 

Arching up, craning, Nic shook, shuddering as he finally crested. His nipples, hard pebbles, rubbing raw against Spike's chest. Spurting strings of silky cum, splashing wetly, slippery warm, across his belly, smearing between them. Spike grunting. Filling him with cool wetness.

They collapsed together, panting. Nic running a limp hand over Spike's back. Spike rubbing his cheek over Nic's slick skin, feeling the frantic beating of his heart, not yet slowing.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

It was Oz's light caress that woke Spike. Nic's body had released him, he lay damp and sticky pressed between the round butt cheeks of his thrall, Nic's legs still around him but not tightly. Feeling sated, and at peace. He lay content, letting Oz pet him, kiss his shoulder. Nic stirred a little and Spike realized he was probably too heavy.

 

Spike toppled off Nic, to the side, coming to rest in Oz's embrace, legs still tangled with Nic's. Nic let out a gusty sigh, feeling like he just been hit by a bus. A big fucking clue bus. He hadn't fought for his virtue. He hadn't tried to stop the vampire. He hadn't merely endured it. He'd moaned and begged wordlessly, and wanted it. He'd come. Hard. He'd liked it. Fuck. He'd loved it. Yeah, he was straight, alright. Straight as a paper clip. Jeez.

 

Nic watched as Oz lazily stroked his pale fingers over Spike's face and chest. Every touch was brimming with adoration and care. Spike mumbled under his breath, kissing the fingers when they trailed over his face, his pale lips puckering.

 

With a groan Nic rolled over, off of the mattress and onto the floor. He made his way into the bathroom, perching on the facilities, holding his head in his hands. This was the craziest thing that had happened to him. The most frightening. And the most wonderful. He flushed and stood up, moving to the sink, running hot water over a cloth and washing himself. He peered into the mirror. He poked at his spiky black hair, a mess. His dark brown-amber eyes were intense, sparkling, and yet bruised looking. His lips were swollen, obviously kissed.

 

He carried a clean wash cloth out to the two men still on the mattress. They were kissing, Spike stretched out on his back, Oz propped up over him, balanced on one elbow, running his fingers over every inch of bare skin. Spike lay, arms out flung, basking in the slow kissing, lasciviously, passionately lapping at the tongue that explored his mouth. Nic applied the warm washcloth to the vampire, washing him clean, then tossing the cloth aside into the bathroom, and lay his head on Spike's taut belly. Spike tangled a hand in his short hair.

 

Nic could feel Spike's whole body move with each languorous kiss. And with each kiss, Spike made tiny, circular motions through Nic's hair. Nic curled his palm around Spike's hip, feeling the contraction and relaxation of the muscles, the tiny thrusts barely more than thought. He drew his hand back, sinking the tip of one finger into the divot of the vampire's belly button, then out.

 

Spike was going mad. His lips were burning, Oz's searing kisses butterflying over them, brushing with sensual grace, then his small white teeth, nipping and worrying at the flesh of his lips. The stinging sweetness of each kiss branding itself on his memory, rousing him far sooner than he thought possible, but an arousal that held no urgency, only depth and breadth that was staggering in it's scope.

 

Oz licked his way down Spike's chest. His face across from Nicholas'. They shared a look, the rosy column of the vampire's erection growing between them. Oz extended his tongue and licked up his side of the shaft. Nic, understanding, copied his movement. The licking was repeated, over and over. Slow and sensual. Spike now having one hand wound in each of his thralls' hair, tugging and massaging alternately. Letting out low groaning breaths.

 

Oz wrapped his lips around the succulent head of Spike's cock, flickering and kissing the wet flesh. His gaze finding Nic's, urging him on. Nic's eyes grew wide as he caught on. Leaning down his mouth met Oz's, Spike's erection trapped between their mouths, kissing the delicate flesh, tongues sliding all around the sensitive tip. Catching Spike in the cradle of their lips, suckling gently, savoring the salty, bitter fluids leaking copiously onto their tongues.

 

Nic reached out, touched Oz's cheek, brushed a wild lock of hair behind the werewolf's shell-like ear. Oz smiled, a tender smile around the flesh filling his mouth. He reached behind himself found the glass vial of oil and filled his palm with it. He stroked the oil over Spike. Earning a long, keening moan in reaction, Spike's hips lifting.

 

Then Oz rose up, throwing a leg over Spike's hip, straddling him, gently moving Nic aside, and lowering himself onto the hard length of the vampire. Spike moaned at the agonizingly slow penetration. Oz rode him like a wave, flowing over him, then ebbing, flowing and ebbing, each motion taking Spike deeper into Oz's cherished body. Slick and hot and welcoming.

 

The gradual grinding of the werewolf's hips, lower and lower, spreading open his body, drawing Spike inside, forcing him to throw back his head and moan. His body shuddering, shaking, Oz's nipples, ivory-pink points on his smooth chest, drawing Nic's fingers like tiny twin beacons. Nic moved to place his mouth on one. His lips suckling at the nub. Oz sighing, holding the back of his fellow thrall's head to his chest, never stopping the slow ride on Spike's cock.

 

Nic pulled up and away, looking at the flushed face, freckles dotting across the bridge of the man's nose, his lips full and pink and well bitten, his head thrown back, his torso raising and sinking, his erection, dark pink, bobbing in front of his hips, tip glistening. He looked at it for a long moment, then thought what the hell.

 

He wrapped his hand around the pink shaft, satiny softness covering steel hardness. Oz trembled, falling forward on his hands, bracing them against Spike's shoulders, the vampire's eyes flying open. He watched Oz's face, flushed, dewed with sweat, gasping for air, riding him. Oh, ghod so perfect, he cupped the hot cheeks in his hands, planted his feet and thrust up into the willing body. So tight, so good. Oz went still, letting Spike set the pace, his reward coming when Spike's aim found true, hitting the nub inside, sending sparks through Oz. He shook harder, fighting to remain still, to remain upright, to hold his body for Spike's pleasure.

 

Spike screamed. Every nerve exploding. Every muscle as tight as it could be. His body pulsing, a building ache in his core, until his second ejaculation poured from him, Oz mewling, not missing the sudden increase in girth of the flesh that was invading him, filling him. Wet, cool. It flooded him.

 

"Ghod, oh, ghod, oh. Ghod," Oz cried out, seized by the jerking, spine tingling rush of his orgasm, shooting into the air, splattering onto Spike's chest, his chin, his belly, Oz's arms finally giving in, collapsing, so he dropped down onto his shivering lover.

 

Nic watched them. Stunned. His breath short. Wow.

 

Spike's hand crawled across Oz's heated skin, cupping his buttocks, finger tips giving in to the urge to touch where they were joined. To run around the stretched hole, satin smooth. Oz let out a sigh. Spike's heart melted at the exhausted, sated sound. Gently, worshipfully he sank his fangs into the ivory bend of Oz's elbow. He drew out a mouthful of blood, then a second, before licking the wound closed. Oh. Ghod. He kissed the healing skin.

 

He reached out, unerringly finding the warmth of his second thrall. Spike pulled that one in tight, tucking him into his side. Now it was perfect. He was warm, cuddled. His thralls were safe. His. He let himself drop off to sleep.


	40. Chapter 40

  
Author's notes: Gunn and Alistair talk. Lorne and Fred talk. Less, but they still talk.  


* * *

Gunn looked around the sparsely furnished room.

 

The bed was neatly made. Two chairs sat at a plain table of hefty, darkly stained wood. The dresser was also of the same wood, and smaller than the others Gunn had seen in the rest of the hotel. The walls here were an off white, no wild wallpaper, no huge tea roses painted on it. The whole room had a feeling of quiet peace. No overly bright colors. No overly dark ones either, the room wasn't depressing. It was a place to be calm. A place for contemplation, meditation, and tranquility.

 

The carpet was new, and cream colored. Alistair slid off his shoes as they entered the room. And, after a moment's hesitation Gunn followed suit, leaving his boots near the door. The carpet felt very soft on his feet. Pleasant. He sank into the deep pile, most of his foot invisible.

Alistair led the way to the sturdy table.

 

Gunn took one of the chairs when Alistair offered. The vampire took the other. They both sat and looked at each other. Predictably, now that they were alone and not likely to be interrupted, no words volunteered to be spoken. It was never going to get easy. Gunn looked around the room some more, to give the vampire time to think. It worked. After a minute Alistair began to talk.

 

"This must seem very strange to you. I have seen thralls and masters, I lived in Europe for a time. And it still seems strange to me." Alistair began in his smooth, silken tenor, his hands folded in front of him on the tabletop. "I didn't chose to become a vampire. I was a monk at the Monastery of the Holy Grail, in England. It was not nearly as large and elegant as it sounds." The pale blond vampire actually smiled in memory. A smile of great gentleness, as if remembering a pleasant time.

 

"Vampires used to visit the monastery, asking for absolution. Most burned to death as soon as they set foot on the holy ground. But not every vampire died. It was when I first learned not all were bound into the dark. He used the fact he could walk during the light of day as proof of Ghod's divine love. No one knew much better. The abbot believed him, believed that he and we, with our ceaseless prayers, had created a miracle." Alistair shrugged. He smiled again, this smile rueful. "We wanted to be part of a miracle. It was what the believers of the time focused on. Miracles. Life was not easy then. Praying for a miracle was very necessary in those times."

 

Gunn listened. He was pretty good at listening, he'd gotten better at it from living in the hotel where everyone else did nothing but talk all the time. He, Fred and Angel were the quiet ones. Doyle, Wesley and Cordy needed to have their theories heard, their ideas, their anxieties.... hell, they just needed to talk. It was as natural as breathing to them. Fred would just wander away when she got bored. So, Angel and Gunn were left as the listeners. Gunn also had the impression that Alistair rarely was this talkative or gregarious. That prompted him to want to listen. He nodded his head slightly and that was enough to keep the vampire talking.

 

"I grew up in a time where second sons made their way in the world with a small stipend from their families, if they were lucky; first sons inherited family businesses. I was a third son. And it was pretty customary for us to chose a trade or to become traveling workers, poverty was more rampant back then. It was accepted that many would die on the roads and in the towns streets of exposure and starvation. It was Ghod's will, the people said. All but the monks and the nuns who worked with the poor." Alistair shook his head. "I admired them."

 

"I had the great fortune to take after my mother in my looks and my father in size. I was tall, and uncommonly beautiful for a boy not raised in a noble house. I was accepted into the Orders without much in the way of payment from my father. I sought a life of contemplation. Of serving Ghod. I was pious. Then the vampire began to come to the Monastery. Perhaps he had some desire to return to Ghod's grace, but more I think, he had the desire to find an educated companion, one more sophisticated than the common man. He could not take from the noble houses, hue and cry from such an act might bring a mob down on him. But he could be admired for turning to men of Ghod and to prayer. The abbot assigned me to tend his chapel on his estate and to his soul." Alistair looked off into space.

 

"I did try to offer him prayer. I did try to take him to Ghod's love. I wanted with all my heart to be a part of bringing a sinner to Ghod's salvation. He did have a soul. All vampires, all demons do. But many choose to live as if they do not. As do some humans. They choose to be predators. I was arrogant with the naivete of youth. I believed nothing was out of reach. Not even a vampire. If I prayed long enough and hard enough Ghod would answer." Alistair sighed. "Of course the abbot was not ever going to actually say the Lord I served was a vampire. He was merely an evil man who was seeing the errors of his ways. When I entered into his house, he was vastly wealthy, I often was allowed to stumble over him and his....lovers. Accidentally. I was torn apart, my faith damaged by the visions lust. All his lovers were beautiful beyond imagining. Not human beauty. They were his thralls, I know now. Then, I could not keep my eyes from them."

 

"I prayed for strength. I used the scourge on myself, to mortify myself, to chase out the demons of temptation. The Lord was furious when he found out I had marked myself. It was not what he wanted for me. He wanted to add me to the number of his bed partners. Therefore my body must be flawless, perfect. Now it was not. He still managed to take me as his thrall. He licked my wounds until they healed without flaw. He came to me when I slept with exhaustion hard on me, when I fell to the floor of the church after hours of prayer." Alistair was looking into the past, his gaze unfocused, as if seeing the time, long, long ago.

 

"I woke in his bed, stripped of my robes, freshly washed, a thing not common in that time. Bathing was sinful, and unhealthy, that was the belief then. A man should be bathed only at birth and at his death, when he would be returned to Ghod. Otherwise immersion in water should only occur by accident. The nobles of course felt differently. But, I was no noble. So, waking after being bathed in a strange man's bed...I could not say which frightened me more. Funny as that seems to say now, it was true."

 

"He kept me, at his side for a half a hundred years. Then one day, he turned me. I was no longer his thrall, I was his vampire companion, his Childe. He never gave me reason for this. He was not one to invite questions. I never asked, never found the courage to question him. I thought he had killed me. I didn't understand. By the time my fear had receded enough for me to think, he was dead." The long, delicate fingers wound tightly together. Gunn saw them blanch impossibly whiter.

 

"A man came. Great and tall, with arms like the trunks of trees. With an axe. He beheaded my master, the others who were still his thralls. He turned to me, and I fell to my knees, baring my neck to him. Believing him to be my salvation, meant to return me to Ghod. But he never struck. He stood and looked down on me. Then he bade me follow him, raising me to my feet. I think he expected me to burst into flame when I walked into the light. But I did not. I was with him for three centuries. Not as a lover, but as two men who prayed together. Who had the faith of Ghod to sustain them. Who fought evil. Then one day he was gone. And once again I was alone." Alistair looked up at Gunn. "I never learned where he had gone, nor what happened to him."

 

"I can enter holy ground. I have always been able to do so. I have no idea why. I haven't met any vampires who are not masters with thralls who can do the same." The blond vampire shifted enough to put a hand in his trouser pocket and draw out a string of beads. "My rosary." He said, showing Gunn the wooden beads polished to a sheen by centuries of handling. A tiny cross dangled from one end. It lay against the vampire's palm. Doing no harm. Glinting in the room's low light.

 

"I came here after years of living alone, as a hermit in my house in Spain. I had few visitors, just other men who would pray with me for a time. I heard the call. Angel's call. After all these many years. When I though I was free of it. I heard it. And knew I was not free. So I came to the new world, my first time here. And to LA. I came and Angel has taken me as his. It is fate, I thought. Ghod's will. Then I saw you. And I saw Tristan's axe in your hand." Alistair met Gunn's eyes. "Perhaps it is not the same one. I don't know how I could ever tell. It does not look any worse for the wear it must have been subject to. But. I don't believe in coincidence, either. This, too, is fate. Destiny. I was meant to meet you."

 

Gunn was floored. Everything in him wanted to believe the vampire was telling the truth. In fact he'd bet his life on it. "So you want me to agree to be your thrall. Because it was...destined." He said.

 

"I think it is meant for us to be." Alistair agreed. "How many men of this time carry an axe?"

 

"How do I know that your motivation is honorable. Hell, maybe you just want my hot body." Gunn said when he couldn't find anything to say about he axe comment

 

"Hmmm. Of course. I went into the Order at twelve. I was chaste, as were all my mother's children. She was not a woman to trifle with, we followed Ghod's laws. I remained chaste until I was taken by the vampire as his thrall. Sex is inevitable between master and thrall. But after I was free of him, I had no desire for a lover. I had nothing to offer a woman, no possibility of children, of a family. The church told us that love between men was a great sin. That sex was for procreation, for bringing more of the faithful to Ghod's church, to the faith." Alistair shrugged. "Sex has not played a great role in my life."

 

"Well, sex has played a great role in mine." Gunn said, needing it to be very clear to the vampire. 'Cause he knew where this was heading. Why a normally private man was sharing his life story. Not just to get a millennia worth of secrets off his chest. Nope. The vamp was going to ask him to be his thrall. "And none of it with another man."

 

"Hmm. The sex part is the least important factor. The blood, the binding, the commitment. Those are the cornerstones."

 

"If the sex is so minor...why not eliminate it all together?" Gunn asked, honestly curious.

 

"Minor but necessary. A spark plug is small compared to the engine as a whole. But, it is very necessary." Alistair said. Gunn actually laughed at that. Not a bad analogy.

 

"OK. I get the point. But why you and me at all? I do alright as I am." He said. He was alive. And most of those who challenged him were not. That was a good record as far as he was concerned.

 

"Angel is now a greater target. His power calls many to him. Vampires, witches, demons, lycanthropes, allies and rivals. Those around him will be targets. Unless you wish to give up your life's work, you must find more sources of strength. This is one. If you will consider it." Alistair put out his hand, touched the shaft of the great axe that Gunn had put on the table. Touched it like it was an old friend.

 

"I accept that it is meant to be. When I was a monk, I believed that the faithful would be raised to live again in Ghod's kingdom. I have since then encountered different views on the cycle of life. Perhaps you are Tristan, reincarnated. Come back to finish your tasks on earth. If you are, I would stand with you. There are a hundred beliefs. Who is to say which is the true belief? I no longer know."

 

"So. OK. If we do this...do we have to be exclusive? 'Cause I am getting the strong impression from watching our two vamps upstairs that straying from the home hearth, like me going out for female company, won't be welcome." Gunn waited to see what the vampire would say to that. Alistair nodded.

 

"Yes. Your assessment is correct. Sharing a thrall is not...possible." Alistair finished.

 

"So, I can keep fighting as I am, and probably die. Real soon when the badder dudes show up. I am just putting it into words here. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong." Gunn said to his companion. The blond nodded, not saying anything. "Or I can stop what I am doing, and run away. Or I can find some other source of power. One of the choices that would offer me that kind of power, the chance to survive doing what I am doing now, is becoming your thrall. But in order to do that, I have to have sex with you. And give up the ladies I love so damn much. That about cover it?"

 

"Very well." Alistair agreed. "You have stated it well, indeed."

 

"Huh." Gunn said. "I'm going to have to think about this. On one hand giving up the sex that rocks my world. I am still a young man, sex means something to me. On the other hand, what I *do*. Which is not a choice I want to make." He stood up, re-sheathed his axe, absently wondering if it was Tristan's axe, and if it was, did that mean anything? "I will think about it. And before you tell me, I know I don't have long to think it over. Just overnight, maybe. Half a day. Then I'll give you my answer." He left the, peaceful, austere room. Even the air here seemed cleaner.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne knocked on the door. He heard the movement inside. "Fredikins? It's me. Can I come in?"

 

The door opened a crack, Fred looking behind him and to the side, making sure he was alone. Then she let the door open wider, enough that the big green demon could squeeze in. He was wearing a bright red suit today, with a blue tie, blue shirt, and yellow shoes. Yet he didn't look ridiculous. Or like a clown. He looked friendly, he always looked friendly, and tall, and....good. Fred thought he looked very good.

 

Fred didn't spend much time with men in general. Her time in the demon realms had sort of put her off company, and she still wasn't used to human men, even if she was human herself. Lorne made her feel comfortable. She liked being near him. It was especially great to be tucked under his arm from time to time.

 

Lorne hugged her now. "How ya doing, honeybun?" Fred wrapped her tiny arms around him, and they squeezed each other for a few minutes. Then Fred pulled away.

 

"You didn't want to go to the meeting?'" Lorne asked when she'd closed and locked the door behind him. She was the only one who had a room on the fourth floor of the hotel. That might change as Angel's court came together. But for now, she had privacy, a sort of isolation, one she desired, way up here.

 

Fred shook her head. "Nothing I wanted to hear." She said. "More strangers will be coming."

 

"So do you want to stay here, with Angel, living in the hotel? If you want, there is room for you at Caritas. I always have empty rooms, space for a friend."

 

Fred looked at him, measuring him, his response. His offer. "I feel safe here. And I feel safe there."

 

"Well. Then perhaps you can have rooms here, and there?" Lorne said, figuring out that the arrangement was probably the one that Fred would be happiest with. The tiny human had already braved the sewer route to Caritas many times. Both Lorne and Angel had laid wards along the way. She would be safe enough. "Come over whenever you want."

 

"Thanks." She said, wandering over to her computer. "Want to see what I found?" She asked.

 

He nearly said no, but then he tried to think of the last time Fred volunteered something like this. She as a rule didn't. Unless it was important. "Of course," he said and bent down to look at the screen. "What is this?"

 

"It is the Wolfram and Hart Intranet." She said typing away. Lorne gaped.

 

"But sweetie, you need a password to get in there." The kind of password nobody could hack. She nodded her head, her long brown hair bobbing.

 

"Yeah." She said. And nothing else. Lorne began to read. The hair rose on his neck. Somehow the law firm had found out about Angel. He put his hand over Fred's and scrolled to the bottom of the confidential email.

 

Dr. Margaret Walsh. Huh.


	41. Chapter 41

  
Author's notes: Putting together an invasion, and Doyle and Angel have a talk.   


* * *

Dr Walsh surveyed the men standing at attention in the lower laboratory area. She shook her head as she looked them over. Young. Inexperienced. These were the volunteers she was getting now. She needed experienced men, men who had been in real combat, Marines. Not boys right out of boot camp. Inexperienced men were like spitting at the Hostiles. It did nothing but insult the demons and make them angry. She grit her teeth.

 

She met the eyes of each one as she walked in front of them. Ten green recruits. They were, to a one, uncomfortable with the eye contact. They couldn't look her in the eye. She almost changed her mind then, almost told them to pack it in, go back to barracks. She nearly lifted the phone and placed a call to her congressional liaison, demanding soldiers she could actually use. But she managed to suppress the urge, only just. She'd heard the party line last time she called. They needed the real soldiers for Iraq and Afghanistan.

 

"You will be observing vampires. There are a number of them living in a single location. I expect you to keep that location under tight surveillance, without revealing yourselves. It is an old hotel "The Hyperion" in Los Angeles. The head of the group of Hostiles who are living at the location is a vampire named Angel. The Initiative has had contact with him before, but as I recall none of you were here when that took place." She flashed the pictures up on the white board behind her. The annoyance that had been dissipating coming back full force.

 

"He is strong, and clever. He is a killer, and a predator. If he catches you, you will be killed, or tortured, or worse. It is a good incentive not to be caught, gentlemen. If you are discovered, I will not be sending anyone after you. There will not be a rescue. I do not want it revealed who is observing him. And you will not tell him." She glared at each of them. Long and hard. Until they got the message, if they failed, they had better not plan to return to her.

 

"There is a sanctioned experiment currently underway. We are endeavoring to learn how to control these Hostiles. I have placed subjects within the vampire's intimate circle. Some of these subjects are familiar to you. Riley Finn, Graham Miller, Nicholas Yee." There was a stirring in the ranks. Finn and Miller were legends. She stopped talking frowning until silence fell. Until she had their undivided attention again.

 

"These individuals are not to see you. They are not to be contacted. They are not to be asked to help you. Under any circumstances. They will not aid you. You will not render aid to them. Not under any circumstance. I can not make it any clearer. There are also several other men to look out for and who I will expect reports on. Alexander Harris. Oz, no last name. He is under the misapprehension he is a musician, he played in a band at one time. There is also another vampire living at the Hotel. Hostile 17. Spike. William the Bloody." She left the photo up though in her opinion his distinctive appearance was not hard to memorize. "You should be familiar with all these faces. No photos will be taken with you to LA."

 

They nodded at her, standing still waiting for her to continue.

 

"So our objectives are, to observe. To report what you observe in full detail. Let me decide what details are important, and which are not. You are not to be caught. At some point I may ask for the retrieval of Hostile 17. But unless I give you the go ahead, he is not to be taken." She faced them squarely. "They are very simple instructions. Follow them to the letter. I will accept nothing less. You will not be in uniform. No dog tags. No military ID. Civilian dress only. Including shoes. No boots. No PX or Commissary cards. Nothing that can connect you to me, or to the Initiative. That will be all."

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel set Doyle on the bed and unwrapped him. Doyle was not reacting well, and Angel didn't like that. The green eyes that blinked up at him were sad, dull. Absent the cheerful, fiery spirit the half demon usually spread to all. Doyle and he were hitched, Doyle was his consort. Not a bad thing, and it bought Angel big points with the demon community. But he wanted Doyle to be content as well. To accept it and move on.

 

Angel turned to his thralls, Xander was waiting, but restlessly, moving for foot to foot, gaze locked on to Doyle between flitting up to Angel's face, Angel gave him a nod, and the young man fairly leaped onto the bed, snuggling up against the small demon. Graham followed a bit more slowly. Riley last of all.

 

Angel sat on the bed, watching them touch Doyle. Graham was letting his body contact the other's, Riley laying a tentative hand out on the Irishman's foot. Xander was the only at ease. Angel kept an eye on him. Watching Xander curled up against the smaller man's side. Xander licked his shoulder, and Doyle flinched. Good, a reaction. It was better than the man just laying there taking everything.

 

"Doyle?" The green eyes tracked to the vampire's. Angel put out a hand and pushed at the short hair. "Tell me what is wrong."

 

Doyle stared at him, as if trying to find the energy to cast him an incredulous look. What was wrong? He had a list. He had been unwillingly/unwittingly marked by a vampire. Become addicted to his blood. Then pimped out by his own kind and forced to marry the vampire, sort of like a medieval, arranged marriage, the virgin bride delivered to the husband's bed. And on top of it all...he'd lost Cordelia. Involuntarily the sob rose, and burst out of his throat.

 

"Doyle." Angel's voice was harder, firmer. "You are stronger than this. Pull it together." His hand was far less hard, as it stroked the dark hair. "Come here." He lay on his back pulling Doyle to lay on top of him. He ran his hand gently down the pale hunched back, tugging a blanket over them. His eyes met those of his three thralls. They all sat at the end of the bed watching him, the peanut gallery. He tried not to frown.

 

"You three, go get something to eat." He said quietly. And watched them go out of the room. "Don't leave the hotel." He said after their retreating backs. Graham closed the door.

 

"We can only go forward. It doesn't pay to look behind to see what we've lost." Angel said to the other demon, once they were alone. Doyle didn't react with more than a sniffle. An insulted, expressive one, but still...just a sniffle. Angel held back a sigh.

 

"I didn't want to marry you." Doyle said at last. Shifting on top of Angel, trying to find a more comfortable place, ending by putting his head on the vampire's shoulder, his face pressed to the corded side of the vampire's neck.

 

"And I didn't plan on marrying you." Angel answered just as truthfully. "As I see it neither of us had a choice. So why not make the best of it? We can not go back and change it. It is not your fault it happened and it is not mine."

 

"I want...I just want it to go back to the way it was." The brunet said. His voice had a tone that was very close to being a whine. Angel came close to smiling, before he reminded himself that would be a very foolish impulse to give in to.

 

"It can't, not now. We're stuck in this pile." Angel said, evenly. "And it could be worse you know. I know you. I like you. And I trust you at my back. We are friends aren't we?"

 

"Yeah. OK, you are right about that. You aren't a stranger they picked out to marry me off to. I'm glad for that much. But, how am I going to lift my head up around town? Every demon in LA is going to know I am your consort." Doyle half wailed the last.

 

"Oh and that is such a bad thing that it has you wailing?" Angel snorted. Then snapped his mouth shut when Doyle glared at him. "Sorry."

 

"Yes! Angel! They are going to think that we are...that we...are going to bed together." Doyle muttered, hotly. "And it will definitely get back to Cordelia. Angel, she is never going to forgive me!"

 

"Soooo. We are in bed..." Angel pointed out. Then cringed when Doyle raised his head far enough for thier eyes to meet and hold. Angel grimaced. "You are more concerned that they think we fuck. So. My view on that is, that it is none of their business if we do or don't." Angel said. "Let them wonder. Be mysterious. After a while they'll stop asking, something better will come along. You'll see, just give it time."

 

"Something better than who is having sex with the vampire king of LA? I don't think so, Angel." Doyle disagreed. He tugged the edge of the blanket up over the top of his head. "Besides, do we have to?"

 

"Have to what?" Angel asked thinking he knew the answer to his own question, but no harm in being sure. There was a sound of scratching at the door. He and Doyle voth sat up, the smaller demon sliding over to put some distance between them.

 

"Yes? Angel said, sniffing at the air. He sighed, "Come in, Xander." He raised his voice a fraction, knowing Xander's sharp ears would have no trouble hearing him. The door eased open and Xander peered around. When no one yelled, he slipped inside and made his way quickly to the bed and Angel. He firmly insinuated himself against the vampire's hip. Not making eye contact. Angel placed his hand on the back of the thrall's neck.

 

"So what were we talking about? You and I in the same bed? People finding out. Thinking we are having sex. We can if you wish..." Angel said. "You are my consort, it is your right to have me if you wish to."

 

"Have sex?" Doyle wailed against his chest, ignoring Xander's big brown eyes peeking over the vampire's hip. "Why? I can't have your children. You can't have mine. That is why arranged marriages were arranged."

 

"Or to cement treaties." Angel clarified, then shook his head. "No, Doyle. We don't have to." Angel said back to his bed companion, His hand ruffling Xander's hair. "If you want to, we can, But only if it is what you want." Xander scrunched closer, raising his head, resting his chin on Angel's upper leg.

 

"Good because I don't want to. It would be too weird to have sex with you, you are a friend and all that. I don't think I could look you in the face the same way again. If we did." Doyle rubbed his chin, fighting the blush that threatened to overwhelm.

 

"Fine. We won't. But you can't go around moping. And you can't get involved with anyone else, not openly. It's not that I would be offended, it is that the demon's wouldn't take it well. Deal?" Angel asked. Doyle was relaxing a bit. That was promising. The next words let Angel know his relief was premature.

 

"Sure. I have lots of practice hiding relationships." Doyle said grimly, his face hidden. "No one wants anyone to know they are seeing me."

 

Angel grit his teeth. "You know that is not what I mean. If you want me to prove it, I will trumpet it to the stars, that you and I are joined." Xander nosed his way between Angel and Doyle's legs, squirming until he was lodged, his head reting on Angel's stomach. He watched Doyle, expressionlessly, warily. Doyle frowned at him. Then looked at Angel.

 

"I'm sorry, Angel. I just feel, disappointed. I mean, I know Cordy just likes to keep her private life, private, but I hoped I could wear her down, that she would someday agree to us being more public. Now, that won't happen. Not ever." Xander shifted. Doyle glared at him.

 

"She did it to me." Xander said, whispering. Doyle blinked. Trying to figure out the bland look on the were-hyena's face. Like ordering coffee, not revealing that he'd been with Cordelia Chase, Doyle's princess.

 

"What did you say?" He asked, not sure if he'd heard right.

 

"She did it to me. Kept our relationship a secret. Wouldn't let me tell anyone." Xander said, picking at the edge of the blanket. Doyle stared, not seeing. He'd heard this before. But his thoughts were jumbled on when and where. He and Xander stared into each other's eyes. It was Angel who spoke next, cautiously.

 

"I can't tell you why she decided to do what she has done. I don't want to hide you. I would much rather be very public with you, but I will accede to your wishes." The vampire said. "Though I think the more open we are the better."

 

"What do you mean, open? I thought we agreed we weren't going to have sex." Doyle protested. Angel bit his tongue. Then he spoke after taking time to make sure his tone was even.

 

"Yes, we agreed. And only you will change that. Whether we have sex or not. However we can behave as if we are friends and nothing more, in public, or, I can court you. Which will cause a far greater stir, do you think?" Doyle didn't answer. He chewed on his full lower lip. Xander and Angel watched, unable to look away.

 

Doyle turned back to Xander, recoiling a bit at the very intent look the other man ws giving him. But he really wanted to know what had happened between Xander and Cordelia. "You were with her. What happened? Did you break up with her?"

 

"No. She broke up with me. When her friends found out about us. She didn't want anyone to know." Xander said, scooting up higher. Angel shifted back to make room.

 

"Why not?" Doyle asked.

 

Xander shrugged, curling up, his head resting on Angel's chest, his butt planted snuggly on Doyle's belly as they all lay in a tangled heap. "She was ashamed of me. I guess. Like you are of Angel. Being his consort, I mean."

 

Doyle had nothing to say to that.


	42. Chapter 42

  
Author's notes: An emissary from Europe.  


* * *

Angel opened his eyes at the knock. It was repeated a bit louder, Angel lifted his head at the second knock. Doyle was snoring softly on top of him, Xander was sprawled half on him, half on Doyle, limbs spread wide. Then the door creaked open. He watched, laying perfectly still as two shadows entered.

 

"Angel!" It was Riley, hissing out his name. In a state of agitation, big hands worrying at each other. Strange. Angel looked him over from head to toe, not answering immediately. He could see no injuries. He transferred his gaze to Graham. Also intact, and apparently unharmed, no smell of shed blood on either. Graham doing a better job than Riley of concealing his upset. But, both men were upset.

 

"Angel are you awake?" Graham asked, his voice strained, eyes sharp for a human, but not able to see all that well in the dimness, he took a step nearer, put out a hand, wanting to touch Angel, as if he was seeking reassurance from the vampire. Very out of character, that made the skin on the back of Angel's neck prickle.

 

"Yes," Angel sat up, letting Doyle slide off his chest, not waking him yet. Xander let out a small whimper, stretching mightily, his joints cracking, before falling back to sleep, his head tucked under one arm. "What is wrong?" Graham's touch was tentative, Angel rubbed his cheek along the underside of his thrall's arm. Offering the needed reassurance. He heard and felt Graham sigh. Riley was suddenly crowding close, reaching out, touching Angel as well. Angel patted him, smoothing a hand over his upper arm.

 

"There is someone downstairs. Alistair and Balthazar said to get you. I think...they are afraid of the man. The vampire." Graham said, standing next to the mattress, knees pressed to it, looking down at the three on it, Riley standing so close to his friend that they cast a single shadow.

 

All three laying in the bed remained fully dressed. Riley and Graham dropped their gazes, but not before Angel saw that his not being naked, while in bed with Doyle and Xander pleased his two human thralls. Angel stood, bending down to run a hand possessively over both of the men who were still sleeping. Then he stood to dress in new, unrumpled clothes. Time to see just who was visiting.

 

He smelled the vampire's sweet cologne before he even arrived at the meeting room. His eyes drifted shut, remembering the other times he'd smelled that scent. The memories did not slow his stride as they flooded over him, and he entered the room, coming face to face with his visitor. Who turned toward him in a swirl of dramatic red. He always had loved to be ostentatious, noticed. Angel allowed a small smile to quirk his lips. Alistair and Balthazar were in the room.

 

Balthazar had cornered Wes, not letting the researcher serve the vampire, who stood without reacting to that subtle insult, next to one of the chairs. The strange vampire grinned slowly. As did the man beside him, his pale blue eyes looking Angel up and down. Human, Angel noted. And a thrall. But flirtatious, very unthrall like. Angel wondered why the vampire was not putting a stop to it. The bonding scents were exquisite, rising up off of the man. The vampire regarded Angel through hooded eyes.

 

"Heronimous." Angel said. Xander bumped into him and robbed his greeting of a little bit of dignity, the werehyena peering around his shoulder, eyes locking onto the intruder, hackles rising. Because that is what Angel thought of Heronimous. He had intruded.

 

Riley and Graham were right behind Xander. The strange, brown skinned vampire smiled, mirthlessly, his large brown eyes sparkling as if with merriment. His gaze raked all of Angel's thralls head to toe. Angel's hand clenched into a fist. The look was as invasive as touch, and Heronimous knew it very well.

 

"Angelus. So it is true. You have taken thralls? Naughty, naughty." The vampire smiled, a flash of horribly sharp, brilliantly white fangs, a fluttering of dark lashes. Waving a slender finger at the much larger Angel. "The First Court of Aurelius wanted to know. And since you have not seen fit to send word..." He shrugged his slim shoulders, lifting his hands palms up, his eyes dancing in his elfin face. "Here I am."

 

He tried to act like he was just the messenger boy. But Angel knew him so much better than that. Heri was always in the know, and always in on the plots running crazily through the internecine corridors of power in the European courts. Now Heronimous was here to see what mischief he could get away with. In Angel's court. The first test.

 

Angel let his own smile grow as he approached. There would be no mischief done at his expense, he would make sure Heri understood that. He felt the power roiling under this little vampire's skin. Short and compact, and bordering on pretty, a prettiness coupled with cleverness that had held the attention of many others, to Heri's benefit.

 

A pretty face. Yet so powerful. Angel knew it was what had alarmed his own vampires. Power, desire, need, hunger, and a malicious sense of mischief. The feeling of Heri's want pouring over them, which the short vampire didn't bother to control, just let hunger seep out invading whoever was in the room. Balthazar was indeed wise not to let Wesley too near the other, he was no doubt fighting the urge to bite the human himself. Which was exactly Heri's intent.

 

Angel had never let his own, newer power have free reign. No time like the present. A demonstration of his refusal to be played with. He neared Heri, and held out his hand. He saw the puzzlement flicker over the youthful face, his hand coming up to meet Angel's, then the eyes grew wide, as they flew up to Angel's face. The sweet Cupid's bow mouth formed a perfect, tantalizing "O". It was all Angel could do not to laugh, as Heri drew back his hand as if stung.

 

The picture of wounded and outraged innocence. Had this actually worked on him once, Angel wondered? Yes, he admitted, it had, he had once been enraptured with Heri, willing to do anything to catch his attention. To receive a fleeting caress. One stolen kiss. No longer. Angel let his own power wash over Heri, overcoming the not inconsiderable power the other had been using, a wave cleansing the room of the unauthorized interference, the discordant power.

 

"Do you dare....?" The smaller vampire hissed, drawing back as if he'd been burned. Standing in front of his suddenly nervous human companion, his...thrall? "I am from the court...their emissary...." He lifted his pointed chin, glared.

 

"And you are now in another court. My court, Heri. Where I dictate the behaviors I will tolerate. Show some respect." Angel informed him. He smiled, not bothering to show fangs. Heri's bright eyes flicked from thrall to thrall. Graham, Xander, and lastly to Riley. They lit on Doyle, and he frowned, before returning his attention fully to Angel.

 

"Three thralls or is it four?" Heri asked, a bit more subdued, Three thralls was a vast accomplishment, and could not be assumed, it needed confirming, but still with his chin up, defiant. Still looking for an advantage, a weakness to sink his claws into. Still confident enough to ask pointedly, even rudely the questions he wanted answered. And Angel saw no harm in answering, letting Heri know he was right to fear.

 

"It is three thralls. And my Consort." Angel held his hand out and Doyle playing the part perfectly lay his own hand in Angel's, stepping forward, eyes cast demurely down. "Francis Allen Doyle. Seer to the Powers That Be." The Seer was known on Europe. Doyle was a clear indication of the support of the other demons. Not welcome news for Europe. It was a treat to see Heri blanch. And he'd only been here mere moments!

 

Angel led Doyle, who was biting his lip, trying not to burst out laughing, to a chair and held his hand as he sat. Angel welcomed the return of the wicked twinkle in his consort's eyes.

 

Then Angel seated his thralls around the chair he took for himself. Balthazar came to stand behind him, Wesley held firmly by one hand, behind him, just one eye peeking around, and Alistair next to him. Angel took his seat and waited, brow raised.

 

"Do you deny that you are a son of the House we both share?" Heri asked pointedly, struggling not to head for the door as Angel's eyes fell on him, fighting to find some advantage left to him. Angel held out a hand, the message clear. Heri took a reluctant step forward. He really had little choice as Angel pushed it. He was no longer lesser to Heri. This time it was Heri who obeyed, not Angel.

 

Heri dropped to one knee, and Angel took his wrist, pushing the edge of the scarlet suit jacket up, and the cuff of the pristine ivory shirt. The flesh revealed held his attention for a moment. Smooth. Flawless. There had been a time when Angel would have given anything to be allowed to touch this. To press a chaste kiss to the pulse point.

 

"No. I do not deny it." Angel ran a sharp nail over the blue veins at the pale brown wrist. Blood welled up, slowly, like a film in slow motion, barely fast enough to see it grow into a drop, then two. Heri, veteran of the European intrigues, was not yet ready to give up, even as he gasped.

 

"Then why has this come to pass, Angelus dei Aurelius? Why have you begun a new court without asking for leave on bended knee of the father of our line?" Heri tried to keep his tone even, to keep the tremor from his speech. A gasp left his adorable lips. He fought to not pull back. Not to show how frightened he was. Terrified, and Angelus only in the room for minutes. Holding his hand in a gentle, unbreakable grip.

 

"I had no hand in the beginning of this court. But, it is done and it is my court. I will not relinquish the claim of it." Angel said raising one of the drops on a fingertip, seeing how the kneeling Heri's eyes followed it. He raised it to his mouth and kissed it off, the drop, potent, trembling, then gone.

 

"He who rules will not be pleased. You owe him your loyalty and your blood." Heri began, trying to regain the lost control, his voice held a faint quaver. He squared his shoulders, Angel waved his hand impatiently, not caring for the dance any longer. The posturing and politicking.

 

"He who rules, is a *son* of our House, as I am a son. The two *sons* stand shoulder to shoulder now, not one behind the other. Nor one on his knees." Angel said. And his dark eyes rose to meet Heri's head on. Licking another drop of blood from his finger. Heri shook, hard enough that if Angel had not been holding him he would have toppled to the side and fallen. Heri's eyes were round as saucers as he understood. Angel was very, very close to declaring himself free of the line of Aurelius.

 

Angel continued. "This court is mine. These shores are mine. I do not contest the right of the other son to have his court on the shores of Europe. I do not seek to displace him. He should not contest my court or my place. You may be his envoy to me. Or you may be mine to him. I do not care. But I will not be toyed with. Play your games elsewhere. If you play them at my expense...." Angel let the threat hang. He saw Heri shiver. The short, lovely vampire believed he was serious. That was all Angel had wanted from this first meeting. That Heri should believe that Angel did not intend to play by the old rules. The rest would be gravy.

 

"I owe all to the son of Europe. I can not forsake the obligation." Heri didn't hesitate. His face no longer lighthearted, jovial, teasing. But serious, earnest.

 

"Then take him my message. Let him take you back if he can." Angel reached out and touched the arm of the vampire, pulled him nearer, bent his neck and sank his fangs in deep.

 

Heri moaned.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Gunn burst into the meeting room, he had an overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. His axe was bare in his hand. He saw Balthazar and Alistair, alert, tense. He saw Wes, half hidden behind his dark vampire. He saw Doyle sitting stiff, awake, and looking fine. Then he saw Angel, with his thralls around his feet, a small man on his knees, bent back, Angel's face buried in his neck. Gunn heard the wet sounds of vampiric feeding. And alone, stood a man, with a look of one who has seen a ghost or some other nameless horror.

 

Angel lifted his head away from the man's neck, and Gunn immediately revised his opinion. Not a man, a vampire. He looked assessingly at the other man, the one standing. But, he looked human, not anything else, even on close scrutiny.

 

"Angel?" Gunn asked. Angel shook his head. There was no need for any beheading. Gunn let the butt of the axe thump onto the carpeting. Noticing the small vampire's jump at the sound.

 

"When he sent you, my brother, your king, was sending me a very specific message, Heri. Take my message back to him. See if he understands it. If he does not, then return to me. If he does, I wish him joy. If not...well. I have three thralls, a consort. And the Grimm have named me king. I do not need his approval."

 

Heri felt a strange wetness at his hand, as he was held, still kneeling. A wetness, warm...he canted his eyes down to see, craning his throbbing neck. Xander was there, lapping at the thin stream of blood that dripped down the vampire's arm from the wound in his throat. Heri gurgled, trying to scream. Angel held him tight.

 

"Do not move." He said. And Heri found he could not. Angel drew back, a great smile on his face. "Well, well, what do you know?" He said.

 

Heri's eyes flew up to his, wide with terror. Gunn took a step closer, coming to stand near Alistair. "What?" The tall, dark man whispered the question. Alistair turned haunted eyes to him

 

"He has done what is not possible." Alistair said, voice flat, neutral. Not happy.

 

"What?" Gunn repeated, more anxious this time, as he watched Xander continue licking the shaking vampire clean of blood, and bury his snout in the torn throat.

 

"Angel has taken a vampire to thrall." Alistair whispered. Balthazar let out a sound that was mostly growl. But tinged with the barest timbre of fear.

 

Gunn stared at him. Trying to think what this really meant to all of them.


	43. Chapter 43

  
Author's notes: Unwilling binding. Challenge sent. Demands made. A letter from Dru.   


* * *

Alistair looked over at Gunn. "Can't you sense it? The feel of it, the hunger growing. It only needs one drop of his blood. One drop. And it will be done." The pale vampire closed his eyes, inhaled, opened them, and they were green mixed with gold, swirling, sparkling and intent. He took a step closer to Gunn. Grimaced and shook himself hard. Took the same step backwards. Let out a small, pained sound.

 

"Stop." The tall, black man ordered. Gunn put the axe between them. He liked Alistair, but he didn't want to be anyone's dinner. And he hadn't decided on the thrall thing, either. Keeping their distance was a good thing. So, if Alistair lost control he was going to be meeting up with the axe. Maybe not fatally, but Gunn would stop him. Until he got his shit back together. Alistair frowned, and turned his head away, struggling to regain some semblance of control.

 

Balthazar was not so contained. He dragged Wes up close and lifted him off of his feet, growling, his unnecessary breath coming out in chuffing huffs. Wesley let out a squeak of alarm and Gunn was prepared to intervene, when Wes wrapped his arms and legs around the taller male's waist. Not unwilling to be embraced, Gunn decided, taking a wait and see attitude. Angel however was of a different mind.

 

"Balthazar." He said, low and deep, his voice giving warning of his sincerity, commanding. "You will not penetrate him in any way. Not fang, nor finger, nor cock, nor tongue. Do you understand me? No biting, no fucking, no fingering, no eating." Balthazar let out an inhuman sound of rage mixed with longing. Angel responded with a simple, "No."

 

The dark, creamy skinned vampire hissed in frustration, hands digging into Wesley's hips, grinding him against the wall, his teeth clamped shut fractions of an inch from the man's bared neck, nose buried in the faintly sweaty curls of hair behind the researcher's ear. Wesley shuddered, rubbing himself against the vampire as best he could. Moaned. Hands frantically pawing at Balthazar's face and upper body. Trying to draw him nearer. 'Zar dropped him on his ass. Breathing harsh and loud, the front of his trousers tented with his erection. His face contorted, vamped out into gameface, fully fanged.

 

Wesley rolled onto his back and lay there, legs up, feet planted, knees open wide. There was also no hiding his own reaction, long and painfully hard, straining at his jeans. He threw his head back and arched, moaning the vampire's name. Balthazar took another step towards him. Then froze, shaking, looming over him.

 

Angel petted Xander as the werehyena took a last lick at Heri's neck. The fine skin once more intact. Angel leaned down, coming out of his chair, pushing his lycanthropic thrall out of the way, kneeling on all fours over the supine, writhing vampire. Heri reacted with widened eyes, fear, and scooted back, scrabbling towards his own thrall like a crab on his back. Angel followed him. Never letting the contact between them end.

 

The human thrall advanced, reaching out, and pulling his vampire in, until Heri's head rested in his lap. Angel stopped, sitting on the small vampire's slender hips. Heri whimpered. The thrall placed his wrist in the short vampire's mouth, and Heri bit into it desperately, drinking the familiar blood, hard and fast, brown, finely shaped fingers gripping the flesh tight.

 

Angel watched, seeing Heri's growing panic as he realized the thrall's blood was not going to be enough, and Angel lifted his own hand to his mouth, biting into his veins, and letting the blood drip down onto the pretty face. Heri let out a cry of distress, the blood coating his features, until he gave in with a sound of echoing loss, opening his mouth to let the blood fall on his tongue. Angel smiled.

 

"You are mine now. Let him take you back if he can." He stood up and returned to his chair, holding his blood coated hand out to Riley. Who took it, despite his blush, and raised it to his mouth, trying to hide what he was doing behind the bulk of his body. He licked at the blood, swallowing it. His tongue warm and careful as he cleaned the punctures. Angel stroked his hair.

 

"Take your master and go." Angel said to the human thrall who still held Heri. He waited as he was obeyed. Then they were all left looking at each other. Balthazar turning away from Wes, refusing to look at him as the man sat up, climbing to his feet. Wes reached out, touched his elbow and 'Zar dragged him near, forcing him behind himself, not looking at the want on the other's face, fighting for his fragile control.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Heri had staggered out of the hotel with the help of his human thrall, disappearing into the night, replete with Angel's blood, in a desperate race to return to his king. In a day, maybe two he would start to crave Angel's blood. Unless his king, the one who's mark Angel had obliterated, could re-claim him.

 

Angel found himself curious as to what the next few days would reveal. If Heri would return. If the other king would dare to kill Heri if he couldn't reclaim him. Dare to kill one who Angel had claimed.

 

The meeting room stayed silent, long after the visitors had left. Alistair was not looking at Angel, while Balthazar was glaring at him. Angel simply sat in his chair, Xander, Riley and Graham cuddled all around him, the vampire brooding over the many possibilities. Doyle was slumped, thinking.

 

"Why did you not tell us that you could do that?" Balthazar asked at last, when he could speak, his teeth clenched. Fury radiating out all over him. He still held Wes behind him crushed against the wall.

 

"I had no idea I could do it. We are discovering my new powers together, Balthazar. Isn't it exciting?" Angel replied reasonably, studying the livid face of his vampire. The black eyes were like pits of fire. "Why does it anger you?"

 

The dark vampire stalked forward. "Will you make us," he waved a hand at Alistair, then himself, "....into your thralls as well? Rob us of the last of our free will?" His chin was high, his face defiant.

 

"You came to my call, Balthazar. I did not come to yours. If you did not want to submit to me, to become my vampire, why come at all?" Angel asked, stroking Graham's neck, lifting him onto his lap. 'Zar glared his fury.

 

"You think I had any choice? I heard your siren song, and nothing else. It filled me until I had to come or go mad. There was no choice involved." Balthazar spat out the words.

 

Angel sat forward. His eyes gleamed golden. Balthazar was a vampire. He should know better. "And just what do you want me to do about that? It is the way it has always been. The weaker are called, to serve the stronger. Do not complain to me when it is our entire history you decry."

 

Balthazar reached behind himself and dragged Wesley in front of himself. "Give me this one. Give me a thrall of my own. So, I may feed like a master does. Then I will serve you without feeling like a slave under your foot, Angelus. I will know you respect me, that you will treat me as a vampire, not as another of your thralls, laying on my back waiting for you to take me." He growled the last.

 

Wesley stumbled against the back of the chair where Balthazar had pulled him. His face a brilliant red. "Hey. Wait a minute. I have a say in this you...you...overgrown dentist's nightmare! If you want me to be your thrall, you damn well better ask me! Not him!" He tried to jerk his arm out of the vampire's hold, and failed. He was shaken hard as the vampire snarled at him.

 

"Quiet." Balthazar hissed, tone forbidding. "He is my king, and he has claimed you as his people. He is the one who will tell *you* where to go. And then you will go. I will take you, then I will tell you, and you will obey me." He showed Wes his fangs, letting the human watch the slow lengthening of teeth from human blunt to long, and needle sharp.

 

"I am supposed to listen to your tantrum and just give him to you?" Angel leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips. Gunn stepped up beside him, his brown eyes locked on the vampire holding Wesley.

 

"I will not be your thrall, Angelus. I will die by my own hand first." The vampire hissed. "I am your vampire, but I will not be your thrall." Angel heard the fear in the smooth, accented voice.

 

"Really? A vampire is a creature who fights to survive above all else, my dear. You are showing me a side of yourself I do not admire. Perhaps not enough to entrust any thrall to your tender care." Angel mused, seeing the anger grow. He cut it off with his own outburst. "Balthazar! If you want him, ask me for him. Do not demand him! You forget yourself."

 

"I am sorry. You are correct, I forget myself." The dark vampire lifted his head. Squared his shoulders. Eyes glittering as they met Angel's. "You are my master and my king."

 

"And what do you wish from me?" Angel almost purred. Graham now laying across his thighs, belly bared, to let Angel's hand wander over the taut muscles. Angel looked down. It had been too long, he wanted to take this one again. To open him with oiled fingers and tongue, and thrust deep into the heat of him. Take him long, and sweet, until he screamed out the end of his need.

 

"I want this human for my own." Balthazar interrupted Angel's pleasant thoughts.

 

"Why?" Angel said. "Why should I give him to you? He is not livestock to me. I would not give him to one who sees him as such."

 

"Uh...hello?" Wesley sputtered, as he was ignored.

 

"His taste, his scent drive me mad." The dark eyes sought out Wesley's stunned face. His eyes were huge behind his crooked glasses, the vampire stared into those eyes for several heartbeats. Balthazar seemed to gather himself. Cleared his throat. "He would make a fine thrall. He is valuable and gifted, intelligent, resourceful. His face and form are not displeasing."

 

Wesley let out another strangled sound. And Gunn stirred restlessly, as if he felt he should be defending his friend somehow. If he could just figure out from what, exactly. Surely not from being declared only acceptably attractive.

 

Angel nodded. He had not expected even that much of an admission. What he would not do was give his consent for Balthazar to take Wesley as his thrall, if the vampire truly felt the researcher was merely cattle. It was now apparent that was no longer the case, though it had hurt for Balthazar to admit it publicly. Angel thought about it, pinning his darkest vampire with hot, golden eyes. He tangled his fingers in Graham's short blond/brown locks. Dragged his head back, showing the long line of defenseless neck to both the vampires, his vampires, in the room.

 

Should he or shouldn't he? He turned his head, looking up at the tall form of Gunn who was still gripping his axe hard. "Why did you some here?" Angel asked. Gunn blinked then his face cleared as he remembered. He reached into his back pocket.

 

"Letter came. For you. From the East Coast. From Dru." Gunn told him. Never taking his eyes off the vampire who stood in front of him, holding onto Wes. Who was standing as if pole-axed letting himself be held by one arm. Mouth working, but no words coming out. Gunn's hands made a dull creaking sound as he tightened his grip on the shaft. Balthazar's pit dark eyes fixed on him, reminding Gunn of a viper's.

 

"Thanks." Angel said taking the letter. He slit it open.

 

Balthazar ground his teeth.

 

Wesley moved up closer, tentatively putting an arm around the dark vampire's waist. "You want me?" He asked shyly.


	44. Chapter 44

  
Author's notes: Wesley and Zar talk to Angel. And make a decision. This chapter is dedicated to scyllablue and thetenthmuse aka as Nancy. Two great writers.  


* * *

Angel read, the flowing script familiar to him from many, long years of association with his Childe. She had never learned to write in the rapid, nearly printed manner of modern times. If he closed his eyes he could see her writing with deliberate, slow strokes, each word, each letter a work of art. The many curlicues and embellishments, a sign from the times she grew up during.

 

Dear Daddy,

 

I am having a wondrous time. Our dear cousins from Europe have come to stay with me for a short while. I have been showing them the sights. I have plenty of time to do that, now that I do not need to sleep as much. I forgot and went out into the sun one day and got my first tan. It stung a bit. And my little kitten, Anyanka, scolded me for not being more careful. I was very sorry, and I petted her until she forgave me.

 

My beautiful Anyanka says you have her former orgasm friend with you. She would like to know if he has gotten better at giving orgasms, and if he is giving them to you. She sometimes misses him, but says she would rather stay with me. Her blood is very sweet. She lets me taste it so often. I am very happy, Daddy.

 

Our cousins say that they will be visiting you soon. I reminded them that you do not like visitors or surprises of any kind. I have learned that. They said they would be very kind to you, and try to make you happy with them.

 

I miss you,

 

your loving daughter, Drusilla

 

P.S. I am trying to find Spikey. I need to tell him my darling kitten says he may not come to visit us here. I told her Spikey is nice, but she says he reminds her of white bunnies. She doesn't like bunnies.

 

 

Angel was actually relieved. He was happy to know that Dru was not on her way to visit him, he'd had a niggling fear of that being the case ever since he had heard she had a thrall. He was sure he had Anya to thank for Dru's lack of questions and no visits. Anya, it seemed, didn't like the idea of Dru needing anyone but her. And that Dru was not going to try to lure Spike away. Another good thing. Angel wanted to keep this Childe near.

 

Angel was quite familiar with Anya. Like males everywhere, once he'd learned of her existence, thankfully from observing the revenge she visited on someone else, not himself, he'd cast more than one anxious glance over his shoulder from time to time. Especially after any traumatic break up. A weeping lover had triggered many a nightmare.

 

He folded the letter, creasing the thick, off white stationery carefully with his thumbnail. It was also important to know that while her tolerance of the sun had improved, Dru still could not tolerate full sun with impunity. He wondered just how tolerant Spike would be. He grinned inwardly, thinking of trying to talk the platinum haired vampire into a series of experiments. Spike would think he was bonkers.

 

The only regret that Angel had was hearing that the Europeans were making Dru their interest. He however, the more he thought of it the surer he was, believed that Anya would have more than enough power to handle them. She was far older than any of the vampires. She had dealt with demons most of her life. And she was ruthless. She was not above killing if necessary to protect her vampire. Angel had every confidence in that.

 

A sound of frustration drew his attention back to the here and now. Ah yes, he had other problems that needed addressing. Apparently one of them was growing impatient. He lifted his eyes from Dru's folded letter and raised them until he could see the stony face of his Southern vampire.

 

Balthazar was fuming. Wesley was simpering....? Christ. The moony look on his face! Angel coughed to hide his laugh. Rubbing a hand over his chin. A laugh would be sure to send Balthazar over the edge. So, should he say yes? Balthazar had actually asked him for the man, making his request out loud. Asking for a human! A vast surprise. Wesley clearly wanted him to agree. But once it was done, it would not be undone. And Angel wasn't sure Wesley understood that.

 

Angel looked down, he still had Graham draped over his legs, the human's stomach pulsing gently with the beat of his heart, chest lifting with each breath. Riley was pressed up against the big, padded chair, gripping Graham's hand in his own. So tempting. So warm. The two of them.

 

Angel ghosted a hand over the crotch of the jeans Graham wore, fitted his hand to the soft fullness there. His. The thrall drew in a breath, daring to raise his head a little and look at his master. Angel ran his fingers over that so handsome face. Slipping one into Graham's mouth. Squeezing Graham's crotch with the other. The grey eyes rolled back into his head, and he sucked on the finger in his mouth. Angel approved, murmuring his pleasure. Riley dropped his head down next to Graham's whispering to him. Angel watched them for several moments.

 

Then Angel let Graham sit, move off his lap into the supporting arms of Riley and Xander, before Angel could forget the other matter at hand once more. Angel met Balthazar's outraged gaze. He held out his hand. The black eyes blinked. Turned wary. Suspicious. He took a step back, not forward.

 

"Come here. Have you made a thrall?" Angel forced his impatience down. After the...incident with Heri, of course Balthazar would be spooked. He saw the negative answer in the black eyes. "This is the only way you will have one. I must help you. Come, sit on my lap." Angel's smile did not encourage the other vampire to do anything of the kind. The chocolate skinned vampire narrowed his eyes. Debating on the wisdom of obeying, versus disobeying.

 

"So. Do you want him enough to obey me?" Angel asked, watching to see Balthazar's decision. Wesley stood immobile, nervous, waiting. "That is the pertinent question right now."

 

Angel turned his head toward the slim man, while Balthazar was thinking it over. "Is this really what you want, Wesley? You won't be able to change your mind. Not one moment after it is done, nor a year from now, nor ten. You must be sure." He was not on the verge of smiling any longer. This was serious. This was his friend's life. Until one or both died, they would be bound together.

 

Angel looked right into the man's gaze. Not letting him turn away. Wesley wrung his hands. He looked over at Balthazar, who looked back at him, the look lingering. Angel felt the heat from that look even as far away as he was. It was as potent as an actual touch. Wesley shuddered in reaction. Then Wesley nodded.

 

"Yes. It is what I want." Wesley said, his tone defiant. As if he expected an argument. Angel merely nodded.

 

"Very well. Wesley wants this, I am convinced. Balthazar, do you also want this?" Angel asked. And there was no hesitation, this time, as the vampire also nodded. "Then come to me." He eased the command in his voice, all but eliminating the compulsion to obey. If the vampire came to him, if Wes came, it would be of their own free will. He waited.

 

Balthazar took a stumbling, ungraceful step, then two, then he was at Angel's feet, kneeling, looking uncertain for once. Wesley was right behind him. Angel shook his head when the human reached out a hand as if to touch the well dressed vampire. He sat up, reaching out with his own hand. Pulling Zar onto his lap, unfastening the pristine white collar of his shirt. Pushing the cloth away, baring his throat. A very nice throat, it was.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike closed the door softly behind him, not wanting to wake his thralls. He'd debated with himself over the wisdom of leaving them in this house of many, mostly unwelcome, surprises. But he was even more reluctant to take them into the company of others. Weird shit happened when he was around the completely mad residents of this Hotel. Best that he do some exploring alone.

 

Keeping half an ear on his room and the sleeping thralls inside, he headed down the stairs, his eyes peeled for any thing of interest. He heard the sounds from the second floor right away. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Not again. He was beginning not to like that conference room at all. It was more than just bad feng-shui. The room was, he thought, cursed.

 

But he still headed that way. Who knows what his Sire was up to now? Best to find out. The big poof led a very exciting life, from what Spike had seen so far. Much more exciting than Spike wanted for himself now that he had Nic and Oz to think of. He sighed. But he needed Angel's help to protect them. He was so screwed.

 

Spike took in the entirety of the room from the doorway as he peered in. Of course Angel was at the center, he could always count on that. The poof loved a stage. Doyle, the pale and fragile looking Irishman, was seated in a chair next to him. The tall, black human, the one with a nasty looking axe, was between the two chairs, the pale vamp.. uh...Alistair, Spike remembered, was next to him. Angel's thralls were all around the chair, and the dark vampire was drawn over Angel's lap, back bent like a pagan sacrifice, Angel's face buried, fang deep, in his neck. The skinny former watcher, Wesley was standing behind the vampire, looking tense, if Spike was any judge.

 

Angel lifted his hand, holding it out to the ex-watcher. Wesley took the outstretched limb, and Spike had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling at him to run like bleeding hell. He could sense what was happening, the compulsion, and the power building in the room, spilling outwards. Someone was going to end up being a thrall. Guess who, you unlucky sod, Spike thought. Angel pulled the human down, on top of the vampire he already held. Burrowing his face into the human's neck.

 

Wesley let out a yelp of alarm as his neck was punctured, his hands flew up to push at the vampire's, Angel's, shoulders, his legs kicked out wildly. Of course he was not strong enough to move Angel. Spike watched as Angel fed on him, Wesley's hands at last going limp and falling away, as Wes ended in a stupor, sprawled across Balthazar. For his part, the dark vampire smelled the spilled human blood and it triggered his instinct to hunt. He grabbed the man as Angel dropped him, burying his own fangs in the bleeding throat.

 

Angel watched as Wesley whimpered, struggling weakly against the ongoing feeding, his own primitive center knowing he was approaching death. Calmly, Angel bit into his own wrist, and blood spurted out, his body filled with the blood of both Zar and Wes. He held the bleeding wounds to Wesley's gaping mouth, smothering the moan of fear and helplessness the human was uttering. He waited, patient, until Wesley began to drink. To gulp at the blood filling his mouth, running down his face.

 

Angel watched, his expression proud and serious, as he helped to make his first true thrall. For another vampire, sure enough, but in someway, Wesley was also his. He stroked the blood dotted, brown hair as Balthazar continued to feed ravenously. Only Angel's power and his blood was keeping Wesley from sliding into his final death. Angel reached over and took Zar's arm raising it to his own mouth and biting hard.

 

Balthazar reared up, roaring at the pain, but quelling rapidly as he was faced with his master's gameface, and burning golden eyes. He lowered his head back to the gushing throat of his thrall, and drank, as Angel drank from him and fed Wesley.

 

Spike sniffed the air. There was an underlying tantalizing scent he couldn't place. Blood. But not from anyone now in the room. It was rich and familiar, but who's? He knew deep in his heart the question was an important one. And he should spend whatever time needed to figure it out. But motion from inside the room broke his concentration.

 

Xander was trying to climb up on top of the three inthe chair, wanting to share all the blood, but Angel pushed him gently down, admonishing him. Spike shuddered. Bloodthirsty git, that Xander was. Xander let out a pleading whimper, but Angel shook his head. Then Spike felt his own ballocks draw up into his body.

 

Angel was looking at him. Spike nearly recoiled as Angel stopped feeding, his action causing a ripple effect, Balthazar lifting his head, Wesley turning onto his side and falling to the floor, barely conscious, moaning with what little strength he had left. The fall diverted Angel's attention for a moment, he pushed the dark vampire down to the floor.

 

"Feed him, if you want him as your thrall." Angel said, then he stood and stepped over them, heading for Spike.

 

"Fuck!" Spike whined, under his breath, debating on how far he would get if he turned and ran. Not far enough, he decided, grimly, and if he ran, he'd be leaving Oz and Nic to Angel's not so tender mercies. Spike couldn't do that. He locked his knees and forced himself to await the oncoming vampire.


	45. Chapter 45

  
Author's notes: The king returns a thrall. Lorne fonds something worth following.  


* * *

Heri contorted on the floor of the expansive throne room. Only in Europe, where castles and palaces still existed, would he find himself in such a situation, on his knees, bent in half by pain, looking up at his king, and wondering if he was about to die on this little bit of flooring, at the feet of his monarch, below a throne that had stood for two thousand years. In centuries past it would have not been so uncommon as it was today.

 

"Damn him to the darkest hells. I can not undo this." The deep voice was filled with anger, and outrage, sounding supremely insulted, as he sat back in the depths of the huge throne.

 

"You swear to me, that it was indeed Angelus who did this? And him alone? I would never have believed him capable of this. The cruelty, yes, Angelus was never kind, but he could not have found the strength to do it." There was a low sound of whispers all around the periphery of the room. One look brought silence back down hard.

 

"Yes, my king. It was Angelus." Heri moaned out, gritting his teeth to hold in the scream, arms wrapped around his spasming belly, fighting the madness that wanted to escape him. He wanted to howl his pain and suffering. He wanted to beg for relief. He wanted to turn back time and not taunt the new American ruler. Maybe then...Angelus would have merely beat the shit out of him, and not done this...abomination. Not made him, a vampire, into a thrall. A position that should only be held by humans who by their very nature were subordinate to vampires.

 

"It should not be possible, you are sure he set no spells, none of his people made any castings in order to allow it?" The head of the line of Aurelius asked. "Never have I heard of a thing like this being done." He raised his head. "Anyone? Have you seen this before?"

 

There were murmured negatives. The king frowned at them. "Surely if Angelus has managed to do it, someone else, somewhere has also. He is nothing so special. He never has been more than a mid-level son of this House. Now he suddenly is able to do what no one else in our history has done? I do not believe it. Find me proof it has happened before. I want to see it. And I want to know how he could." Two vampires scurried out of the room, bowing low as they exited. The king let out a breath.

 

"I can't help you." He said to Heri. "I can't find out anything soon enough to make a difference." He threw his head back and screamed his frustration at the vaulted ceiling. "You are mine. And I can not do anything to help you." He pounded on the arms of the throne, hard, harder, the great metal throne shaking until he stopped, hanging his head.

 

It took several minutes for the king to regain his composure to the point he could speak without his voice shaking with his fierce rage. Every head in the throne room was lowered, no eyes raised to meet his. All knew that to catch his attention when he was in this mood, could be very bad. Heri's whimper, which he could not hold back, snapped the king's head up again, blue eyes flashing gold. His hand was fisted on the arm of his royal seat.

 

"So. My choice is to let you die by inches, listening to you scream for mercy. To kill you myself. To have you killed. Or to send you back to him." The blue eyes watched the gasping figure on the tile while he pondered the options. This was one of his most frustrating moments as king. "This is a test. I know it. A test to see if I will kill you. After he has laid his mark on you. And you are more his than mine. Will I kill that which a fellow monarch has marked?"

 

No one answered the question. It was not the kind to have answered. Not unless he or she who answered knew the answer the king wanted to hear. They wisely let him consider his options, alone, adding nothing aloud.

 

To kill a vampire who was his, one who had served him, more or less faithfully, for three hundred years. He didn't like that idea. Killing was punishment. The ultimate punishment for creatures who could live such long, long lives. He did not like the idea of stooping to kill for mercy. He had some responsibility for this event. He had sent Heri, knowing how it would irk Angelus, the upstart. And now...he was paying for his idiocy. His arrogance.

 

He had learned over his many years in power, not to underestimate an enemy. He should have moved more cautiously. Discovered just what Angelus was, the extent of his power, before he'd challenged him, overtly or covertly. Before he'd offered insult. Dismissed him. Because he'd heard that Angelus had taken a thrall, he'd assumed that the other vampire would have one. Not three, according to Heri. And one not normal human, one who healed with touch, licking Heri's wound closed in a matter of minutes. And then to find he'd taken a demon consort. If he'd been more cautious.....Then he would not be sitting here, at a loss. He turned his golden eyes on the other occupants of the room. Seeing the kneeling figure of Heri's thrall.

 

"Konstantine. Attend to your master. Perhaps he will take some small relief from your blood." He got to his feet, a medium height figure, regal in his robes, and in how he held himself. "Romulus, Remus. He will have to return to Angelus. But if possible he needs some relief of his suffering. Do we have any of Angelus' Childer nearby?"

 

"No my king." Said the nearer of the tall formerly Roman twins. "None of his Childer are presently at court. We can find them if you wish, a day perhaps two."

 

"Very well. No need to locate them for now. I had thought that maybe their blood would ease Heronimous, being so closely related to his new master. If that is not possible, then accompany him on his return and let him feed from you. I do not know if it will help his pain, but it will keep him strong. If Angelus permits you, stay in his court. I would know what happens there." The king strode out of the room, putting Heri and his predicament forcefully out of his mind. He had much to do, Heri could not take up any more of his time.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne was carefully considering just what to tell the other demons, and Angel, about what he'd read on the W&H site. Angel would have to know all of it. If Lorne didn't mention it, then he was sure Fred would tell the vampire.

 

It was not possible to conspire with Fred to conceal any information. The girl just didn't grasp dishonesty. She blurted things out. Forgot that she shouldn't tell. Lorne grinned at the memories that came flooding back. No, having Fred as a co-conspirator pretty much guaranteed every one would find out what ever you wanted to keep secret. It was one of her finest qualities, her unswerving honesty and tenacious loyalty.

 

There was no question, not really, Angel he would tell. The other demons...well that was another story. Giving them too much information was not usually a good thing. There were demons who were intelligent, logical, and rational. He thought of himself as a prime example. There were also an equal number who were...more reactionary, and physical in their response to bad news. And that was putting it kindly. Plainly stated, some demons were raving, slavering lunatics.

 

So he planned to be very judicious in what he told to whom. No need to stir up unnecessary trouble. There was enough of the spontaneous kind to keep everybody busy.

 

Lorne exited the Hyperion deep in thought, but even so, he noticed the small movement in the windows across the street.

 

Strange, he'd thought the building was empty, condemned to be torn down and new condos put up at ten times the asking price of anything else around here. No. He wasn't mistaken, there was someone in the lower floors, moving around in the dark. Huh. More that one someone. Weird.

 

Every instinct he had told him it was not some homeless persons simply looking for a place to rest undisturbed by police and vicious, marauding teen-agers. It felt wrong. There was a sense of organization to the whole set up. He listened to his little voice, and detoured through the brush when he'd made it out of sight down Angel's block.

 

Then he worked his way silently back, turning his coat inside out, to show a dark grey. He was happy he was wearing darker trousers at the moment, and that in the dimness of his hiding place, the dark blue of his shirt and tie didn't stand out, or catch the light. Reluctantly he succumbed to necessity and scuffed mud over his bright yellow shoes. It was that or go barefoot.

 

Once he was back, in position to watch the formerly abandoned building, he settled down on his haunches. Waiting and watching. He didn't have to wait for much more than an hour.

 

They were very blatant about it. The new shift coming right up to the back door of the building and entering. Chatting away. Not checking at all to see if they were being observed. Lorne frowned. They were even talking in normal tones. But these were not homeless men, not crack addicts looking for a place to crash after getting high. They were young and strong, healthy looking. With a synchrony and cadence to their moves that put him in mind of warriors drilling together on a battle field. He held back a snort. But just drilling. Not experienced, or they'd be more cautious, more aware. Suspicious of everything, instead of assuming no one was watching them.

 

So. What did it mean? It certainly would be stretching credibility to think that the email messages from one Dr Walsh regarding Spike, Angel, thralls and vampires in general had nothing to do with the new residents across from the hotel. The question was, what to do about it. He could just watch. Tell Angel and have Angel watch. He could bust in and see just how good they were at fighting, he winced at that idea. Brawls were so unpleasant, it would be just his luck that one of them would get in a lucky jab.

 

Or, he thought, seeing the men leaving from the back of the house, three of them, dressed in dark jeans and t-shirts, and of course not thinking they should wear anything but combat boots. He sighed at that. Could they be any more obvious? Aside from jack-booting down a city street at full noon? He could follow them and see if he could cut one out of the herd. That would even the odds. Decrease the likelihood of him getting popped in the nose, and having to endure Angel's smirk as he waited for the swelling to go down.

 

The three soldiers separated almost at once. Two going one way, one the other. It was as if fate was making the decision for him, Lorne thought. He just hoped she wasn't preparing to make a joke out of it, and him. He faded back into the bushes and to the sidewalk, taking off after the one man who had gone off alone.

 

Time to find out just what was going on.


	46. Chapter 46

  
Author's notes: Spike jumps in. Lorne brings company. Cordy has news.   


* * *

"Spike. Good of you to join us. You are a little late, though. You missed most of the fun." Angel said, his breath feathering against Spike's cheek, as he leaned down to rub his cheek against his Childe's. Spike shivered, feeling the goosebumps flow over him in a wave. He craved the touch, welcomed it from his Sire, yet feared it in equal measure. The new Angel was someone he could not predict, and that made him all the more frightening.

 

"Better late than never," he managed to croak out, as Angel ran a gentle hand down his arm. The tantalizing scent of....something foreign still hung in the air driving Spike mad as he tried to figure out exactly what it was. It was even stronger now that Spike was close to the older vampire. Mesmerizing, yet frustratingly faint. Blood? Who's blood? Or was it something else?

 

"You did not bring your thralls." Angel scolded mildly, still circling his Childe, interrupting Spike's thoughts. He pressed his lips to Spike's forehead, and crooned to his Childe. "Do not be hesitant to bring them with you. They are safe. They are safe. We will never hurt them." Spike belived Angel was telling him the truth, but....he wanted them isolated from whatever coming madness he knew was just around the corner. He could sense it, it was only a matter of time.

 

"They're sleeping. Haven't had enough of that lately." Spike said as evenly as he could, which wasn't very. He found himself lifting his hands, placing them on the larger vampire's waist, as if he had no command of his own body. He wanted to be close to his Sire. He wanted the protection he felt when he was near. He let his head rest on Angel's shoulder. Angel held him carefully, snuggly.

 

"But not so in need of sleep that you didn't fuck them first?" Angel prompted sniffing, his mouth raising a new wave of goosebumps as his lips brushed behind Spike's ear when he spoke. "Both of them, I am surprised they didn't tire you out. Surprised you are not still sleeping, recovering."

 

Spike swallowed, holding back a whimper by sheer force of will when Angel spoke. For some reason the words brought a vision to mind, of his thralls, and himself, twined together like passionate snakes, writhing. Desperate, Spike cast about for something unrelated to say. Something that would banish the hot, wonderful, but knee weakening visions. Deciding to re-direct the conversation, he didn't like the direction of this one, or Angel's interest in his thralls. "Seems like you have been busy, as well." He commented, his neck arching into the caressing fingers running through his hair.

 

"Oh, yes. Very busy." Angel said with an odd smile as he pulled back, one that washed over Spike like a bucket of ice water. Angel tugged teasingly on the lobe of Spike's ear. That kind of touch was not his Sire's custom any more than so many smiles were. Spike felt a fine trembling seize his muscles.

 

"What did you do?" The question was out before he could bite it back. Angel smiled down at him. Pressing him up against the door frame, not hurting him but pinning him, albeit gently. "I don't want to know, do I?" The platinum haired vampire guessed. Angel shook his head.

 

"No William, you are not going to be happy. But come, sit down anyway. I am afraid I can't offer you tea, Wesley is a little indisposed." His eyes glanced over at the man on the floor, and the vampire laying on top of him, hidden mostly from Spike's view where he was standing now. The sound of ripping cloth was discordant, and too loud.

 

Gunn stepped forward. "Wes, you OK?" He asked, his only answer was a sigh and Wesley's leg raising to loop over Balthazar's hip. Gunn frowned at that. But decided to wait and watch rather than intervene right now.

 

"Shouldn't we move them somewhere more private?" Riley asked his cheeks flaming as he looked everywhere but at the couple petting each other on the floor. Xander put an arm around him, hugging him. Riley leaned into the embrace, grateful for anything that would distract him.

 

"Balthazar will not let you near them. He will not let anyone close, probably not even Angel now that he has begun to bond with Wesley." Alistair said also not looking at Wes or Zar. "There is nothing to be done, unless we move out of here and leave the room to them."

 

Angel wanted to laugh out loud, he realized, distantly, that he was high as a kite on all the blood and power he'd taken, used and manipulated. He did grin, huge and crazy. Spike was galvanized into action, he careened off the wall to get away from Angel, put distance between them. And unfortunately, to do that, he had to go into the room, not out.

 

"What the fuck?" The platinum blond asked. He looked wildly around the room. "What the bloody hell has been going on?" He felt the turbulent power rolling off his Sire, growing, out of control. Building, building, scorching him as it rolled over his skin, and they weren't even touching any longer.

 

"Damn it!" Spike swore, Angel ignored him. "Peaches!" Spike tried to get the other's attention with the annoying nickname, but Angel ignored him now that they weren't touching. Spike looked all around the room, at the occupants frozen, staring at him, at them, at Angel who was...glowing? Radiant? Oh, shit.

 

"How come none of you put a stop to this, whatever it is?" Spike hissed at the humans and the vampires in the room. He backed up more, seeing the faintly shining Angel advancing, sort of towards him.

 

"Angel." It was the shorter of the three thralls who spoke, climbing to his feet, shirt open down his chest, he pulled it off. He went to meet the vampire, and hallelujah!, Angel's attention fixed on him. Spike almost whimpered his joy as he watched the big hands of his Sire reach out and grasp the thrall. Graham, his name was Graham. Spike sagged with relief. But he wasn't so relieved that he didn't take advantage of the time the thrall had given him.

 

"OK, someone, tell me what has been going on here tonight." Spike demanded, moving around to put every one and most of the furniture between him and his Sire. Angel for his part, ignored him, lifting the muscular, beautiful man up into his arms easily, putting his face up against the thrall's neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent.

 

"Angel has given Wesley to Balthazar as his thrall," said the tall, green eyed vampire, Alistair. Those pale, eerily lovely eyes watching Spike's manuevering.

 

"That is it? No. Uh uh. There is more. What else?" Wagging his finger, Spike refused to believe that just turning one human into a thrall had made his Sire this magic-drunk. Especially as powerful as he was now. It had to be something else.

 

"He turned a vamp." The black man, the human one, offered. Gunn clarified further. "Turned him into a thrall. You think that was enough to do this to him? Cause, lt me tell you, this ain't the Angel I am used to."

 

Spike gaped. "No. He did not. Try again." He stared at the man. Who looked competely serious. Spike felt a moan of undiluted terror start to build in his chest. He fought it down. Panicking, while just what he wanted to do right now, would not help solve anything.

 

"Gunn speaks the truth, Childe of Angelus. Our master turned a vampire sent from the European Court into his thrall." Alistair confirmed. Spike held up his hands, extending them, making a pushing motion as if to thrust the comprehension of those horrifying words away.

 

"OK. OK. Yeah? Then where is he?" Spike uttered the challenge, even though that hardly mattered at this point. Oh. My. Bleeding. Hell. Ghod. It couldn't be true. Please. No.

 

"Angelus has sent Heronimous back to his king. To see if his king can reclaim him." alistair said calmly enough. Spike moaned. A nightmare. It had to be. He was going to stop adding human food to his blood. It was messing with his digestion, his sanity. Cornflakes could kill you. He refused to recall he hadn't eaten anything but his thrall's blood in days.

 

"You, all of you, are crazy. Mad. A vampire can not, no way, be made into a thrall. You are lying." Spike muttered. The other blond drew himself up, even more erect.

 

"I do not lie. My word is my honor." The other blond vampire insisted, his tone all formal and stiff with offense. "If you doubt me, use your senses. Can't you smell it on the air? It lingers even now, the scent of him, of his blood." The piercing green eyes met Spike's blue and Spike shuddered, suddenly knowing it was true. No matter how impossible, how horrible, it was true.

 

"Hello? Any body home?" The voice warbled up the stairs. "Hellllllooooo? Wes? Gunn? Angel? Sweetcheeks, where are youuuuuu? I've brought company, my ducks. Someone you really must talk to."

 

Gunn stepped out onto the landing, looking down, seeing the Host. "We are up here, Lorne. What's in the box?"

 

"Donuts, three dozen, Ducks. The only thing that was open nearby this time of night." Lorne patted the butt of the man he was carrying over one shoulder. "Oh did you mean him? A soldier spying on the hotel. We had a short but very interesting conversation."

 

"Come on up. Why is he barefoot?" Gunn asked when he saw the naked feet.

 

"Combat boots." Lorne answered. "Can't stand them. Never be in fashion." He came up the stairs easily bearing the weight of the muscular young man. He swung into the room to be stopped in his tracks by the sight of Angel with Graham on his lap, the young man's bare legs visible on either side of his hips. Graham leaning against the back of the couch arms up over his head. Riley was near them his hand knotted tightly with Graham's fingers. "Oh, my. I suppose this is not a good time."

 

"It seems to be catching," Gunn said dryly. Lorne followed his gaze and saw Bathazar and Wesley, curled up together. He blinked. OK, he wouldn't have exptected that in a hundred years.

 

"Perhaps you could just...uh throw a blanket over them? This really shouldn't wait." Lorne said fluttering his hand as he dumped the groggy soldier onto a free couch.

 

"Anders? What is he doing here?" Riley said, sitting up straighter, looseneing his grip on Graham's hand. He stood and took a step towards the young man, only to have Angel let out a forbidding growl. He subsided back onto the couch, fuming.

 

Xander advanced, and received no such warning growl. He sniffed at the soldier. Nosing the bare feet, then up the pants to the man's crotch, burying his nose there and snuffling. Riley let out a disbelieving noise, at almost the same moment Graham moaned. Lorne grimaced, looking around the room, spotting Spike in one corner.

 

"Hello. I don't suppose you see anything to throw over these two pair? Give them a tiny bit more privacy? I really am not surprised that you all are standing around just watching, I mean they are lovely together , but let's be nice about it, hmmm ducks?" Spike looked around and found an afghan on the floor where it had fallen off one of the couches. He picked it up and silently offered it to Lorne.

 

"Well thank you." The large green demon draped it over Angel and Graham, who was starting to pant, as quietly as he could, but still panting. "Nothing else available?"

 

Doyle stood. "Just a mo, I'll find something, give me a sec." He vanished into the hall. Returning quickly with a couple of bedspreads.

 

"Thank you." Lorne pulled four chairs out from their places against the wall. Postioning them in front of the couch Angel was on, and in front of Wes and his vampire. Their petting of one another was becoming distinctly more purposeful. Then he draped the coverings over the tall chair backs and waved his hands. "Voila. Instant privacy screens. Essential when your host has appallingly little...or no," he ammended when a deep groan floated out from behind the spreads. "Self control."

 

He waved his hands at the other grouping of chairs, around the couch where he'd put the young man down. "Shall we?"

 

Doyle was first to move. Taking a corner of the couch across from the soldier. Lorne sat next to him. Xander stayed with the young man, now sniffing at his hair. Gunn shrugged and followed, Riley less certain, but going after there was no responding growl when he stood.

 

Alistair came after Gunn standing next to him, the two of them seemingly comfortable with their proximity, moving well together, as if used to it. Lorne frowned a little at that. He knew for a fact they had only recently met. Ah well, a puzzle for another day.

 

"So." Lorne started. "Someone has been watching the hotel. For almost two days. According ot our sleeping beauty here, under the orders of a Dr Walsh."

 

"God damn it!" Riley burst out. "I can't believe she'd send these kids out to do this. She knew they'd be found out."

 

"You think she did this on purpose? That she meant for us to find them?" Gunn questioned.

 

"I...no. I just think she didn't care, or think about if they were qualified to do this. "Riley relied after a minute's thought. "That is just like her. Believe people can do what she wants them to. And if they can't, blaming them, not herself."

 

"Sounds like a lovely woman." Lorne remarked. "The best thing is...they intend to take Spike back to Sunnydale. With his thralls. Why should she want to do that?"

 

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike groaned. At about the same time Angel growled, Graham whimpered, and Wesley let out a cry of shivering completion. The others sat for a moment staring at each other. Then, Doyle's phone chirped. He dug it out, flipping it open, not recognizing the number.

 

"Hello?" He said.

 

"Doyle? Is that you?" The feminine voice demanded. There was another long, deep groan from behind the blankets. "What was that? Oh well, never mind. I am getting married, Doyle!"

 

"Princess?" Doyle asked weakly. "I don't...uh...married? Uh, When?"

 

"Two months. There is just so much to do, to plan. I want all of you to come. Of course it will be formal, black tie. I have four assistants helping me make the arrangements. I am going to be wearing Vera Wang! You should see the dress! It is just perfect."

 

"Coedelia?" Doyle said. All eyes were no fixed on him. She chattered on.

 

"I am registered at all the best stores, I'll send you a list. I still need linens and crystal. Oh, Doyle it is just so fantastic! I had no idea how important the Grimm were. They know every body! I hope you can come. I have to go now. There is so much left to get done. Toodles!" And she hung up. Doyle closed the phone numbly.

 

"Uh." Doyle said. He looked around. "Uhm. That was Cordelia." He added unnecessarily. "She is getting married. To the Grimm I think."


	47. Chapter 47

  
Author's notes: Deciding what to do with the soldier boys.  


* * *

Alistair watched as Gunn hurried to Doyle's side, catching him as he toppled over in a faint. He understood that the half demon was shocked by the news of the woman Cordelia getting married, but not why. They had seemed affectionate with each other. Surely it was good that she was being married. Surely Doyle was happy for her. She did not seem the type of woman who would agree to being married if she opposed it. The few times Alistair had encountered her, she appeared to be very strong willed.

 

"Let me help you." Alistair offered as Gunn tried to juggle Doyle and his axe. Alistair lifted Doyle easily into his arms. "He is breathing, he is warm, he will be fine." The vampire tried to reassure the man he hoped would one day be his thrall. Gunn put his axe aside and held out his arms. Alistair lowered the limp Doyle into Gunn's arms.

 

Xander was next to Gunn as quickly as that, reaching out and petting the consort. "Doyle." He called. "Doyle? It is going to be OK." Doyle didn't answer, merely curled into a tight ball, tears running down his face. But at least he was no longer laying unmoving. Xander petted him some more.

 

"What is wrong with him?" Gunn asked, vaguely, feeling for all the world as if he'd missed something important. Alistair also found himself curious.

 

"She isn't keeping it secret." Xander explained sadly. As if that said everything. Alistair and Gunn exchanged puzzled looks. They waited for more. But Xander said nothing else. Simply ran his fingers through Doyle's dark hair. Doyle just shook with his misery.

 

Angel rose to his feet from behind the bedspreads, looking over at Doyle, a frown growing on his face. He was naked again, Lorne was the only one to avert his eyes, as the vampire strode out and to Doyle's side. Spike noted his bare-assed Sire was not glowing any more, and felt a certain relief. He wasn't sure how he'd react to a shiny Angel all the time. Too much like those old paintings of heavenly angels with their golden auras.

 

Xander was up and behind the rudimentary privacy screens in a flash. A moan came from behind them, a sound of shifting bodies, from where Graham had been laying. Then the sound of licking, and more moans, though not ones of distress. More of...comfort, ease. And a gusty sigh. As if whatever the werehyena was doing, it was helping the other.

 

Angel took Doyle from Gunn, Riley looking from the big vampire to where he knew Graham was, having trouble deciding where to go. He stood, and walked over to Graham and Xander, his face flushing again when he gazed downwards at Xander and Graham, the werehyena applying his tongue where it would do the most good. Riley returning with the afghan, which he wrapped around Angel and Doyle, tucking it in around the vampire's hips.

 

Alistair held out a hand, helping Gunn to his feet, handing him the axe. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Angel smooth a hand over Doyle's hair and down his back, under the afghan. Riley went back to his fellow thralls behind the blankets, kneeling down beside them, disappearing from the rest of the room, out of sight.

 

"Well, feel better, Sparky?" Lorne asked Angel as he settled down. "Nothing more therapeutic than a little afternoon delight. Even at night."

 

Angel looked over at the green demon, his eyes sending off golden sparks. "Hello, Lorne. So, what is with the kid?" He nodded in the soldier's direction. The boy smelled of Xander. Which meant Xander had thoroughly investigated him with hands, nose, tongue, and eyes. Angel would be willing to bet the youngster had no weapons of any kind on him, nor any wires.

 

He found himself vaguely surprised the werehyena had left the man clothed. Of course clothed was a relative term considering the man had his shirt torn up to the throat, hanging in tatters, and his pants were unbuttoned, the fly gaping open, his feet bare, and more than half his upper buttocks gleaming palely, exposed. He lay on his back, snoring, occasionally twitching.

 

"A soldier, from a doctor named Walsh, a formidable lady who I am given to understand you are familiar with." Lorne replied, reaching out to pat the man who was just beginning to stir. "Riley said his name is Anders, and seemed to agree he was from your Dr Walsh."

 

"We sure as hell are familiar." Spike burst out. "The bloody woman has captured me twice. Put probably a few dozen demons out of their misery after she's cut them up into bits and gotten bored with torturing them. She's a menace. Ought to be put out of her misery." Spike stated. Angel looked at him, indulgently.

 

"We know her, William better than the rest of us." Angel said to Lorne. "She is, in a way, responsible for the both of us having thralls, and for all of this. And also for sending a thrall to Dru. Are you alright, Will?" Spike had gone bone white at the mention of his former, long term love.

 

"I just...I...the thought of Dru having thralls...it isn't a good thought." Spike muttered. Trying to envision Dru as powerful as Angel so obviously was. He himself was stronger than he had been. What with Dru starting out stronger than him, it made sense she would end up closer to Angel's level than his. Maybe making more thralls of her own even now. He felt the bile rise in his throat.

 

"She has one thrall. Anya." Angel said. And Spike came close to fainting for the third, or was it fourth?, time that day. Thinking about the vengeance demon shriveled a man's parts every time, but thinking about her with Dru....it was a thousand times worse. The two of them....

 

"So. What else did you learn?" Angel asked, shifting Doyle to rest against him more securely, wiping away the remnants of his tears. Doyle hid his face, but the tears had stopped. But Lorne knew whatever he said, Angel would hear each word, all of it. Doyle moved his face, into the caressing hand.

 

"Let's see. They were to watch the hotel, note the comings and goings, and when the word came down, they were to re-apprehend Hostile 17, also known as Spike. Or William the Bloody." Lorne said, not missing Spike's distressed startle.

 

"Well, Will, it seems the good doctor has a hard on for you." Angel said. But he wasn't smiling, nor was he teasing, his face was grim. "How many soldiers are here, and when will this one be missed?"

 

"According to sweetie here, there are a total of nine watching the hotel, three of them on duty at a time, around the clock changing shifts every eight hours. He will be missed when his shift comes around again." Lorne consulted his watch. "In about twelve hours."

 

"Well. What do you suppose they will do when they find out he is missing?" Angel asked curiously.

 

"Call it in to the lady doctor." Spike chipped in. He was damn sure of that. The way the lady kept her hand in was obsessive. Her troops would call in anything and everything rather than chance not telling her something she wanted to know. Probably kept track of how many times each one used the facilities, and for what.

 

"And what will she have them do?" Angel persisted. Doyle let out a great gusty sigh, and relaxed a bit more, his hand coming up and fisting in the blanket that covered them both.

 

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Spike growled, unaccountably irritated. He was ticking off the reasons he couldn't run like hell in his mind.

 

"I think some one is missing their thralls." Angel turned to Gunn. "Gunn, can you retrieve William's thralls for him?"

 

"No." Said Spike. "That isn't necessary. Let them sleep." Gunn ignored him, looking at Angel, and when the older vampire nodded, he returned a nod of his own and headed out.

 

"We have two very good resources on Dr Walsh's probable behavior." Angel said as Gunn left the room. "Three if you count William's Nicholas, four including young Anders there." Angel raised his voice. "Riley. Please come here."

 

"I don't think this little guy is up to saying much." Lorne said examining the young, snoozing soldier. The man mumbled at being moved, but didn't say much else. Lorne tugged his pants up to cover his bottom, but didn't fasten them. The soldier would be more comfortable with them loose.

 

Riley stood, looking over at Angel with puzzled eyes. Then he walked to the vampire's side. Kneeling down next to him. "Yes?"

 

"You know this young man. He is one of Dr Walsh's soldiers. I need to know what Dr Walsh will do when she finds out he is missing." Angel asked, his hand going out automatically and running the backs of his fingers down Riley's cheek. Riley accepted the touch shyly.

 

"She...she will consider him an acceptable loss, and keep her men in the observation post." Riley said at once. After he got over the unexpected question.

 

"She will just let him go? That is very cold. Then what shall we do?" Lorne asked Angel, who looked over at Riley.

 

"What would you do?" Angel asked his thrall.

 

"Can't let Anders go. He'll report we know about them, about the obbo. If we delay and let the others know he is missing and call in the report to Walsh, we'll have lost them. But the surveillance will be off, for now. I don't know if that is a help or a hindrance. They will likely set up elsewhere, someplace near, Graham and I could find it, but it would take time."

 

"So. That leaves me with one other option." Angel said, and Alistair was the only one who smiled, the others traded puzzled looks.

 

"What?" Lorne pressed, keeping his voice low, after watching Angel feathering his fingers through Doyle's hair. Riley was also fixated on the attention the consort was receiving. Ooooo, Lorne thought, someone is just a tad jealous.

 

"Seize the enemy." Alistair whispered. "Make him your soldier. There is none who fights so hard as a convert to your cause."

 

"Precisely. We will take them all, and they will become the core of our court's guard." Angel agreed.

 

"You mean... you will make them fight for you? How? She's trained them all to obey her. I know, I was one of hers."

 

"My blood will bind them." Angel said as if it was really that simple. Riley's eyes snapped up to Angel's face, his nostrils flaring. Riley felt his blood boil. He grabbed Angel's arm.

 

"No. Your blood is not...it is ours." He snarled low. "You give it out like we have no rights to it..." His voice rose as he spoke. His grip dug into the vampire's arm. He hissed between gritted teeth. "It is ours."

 

"Be calm." Angel said, Riley dropped his head, still shaking with anger.

 

Xander's head popped up from behind the bedspreads. He headed towards Riley and Angel at a rapid clip. Graham stood up behind him, short enough that his nakedness was not revealed. He reached out and wrapped the bedspread around him, looking just a little shaky.

 

"You are mistaken. I do not intend to take them as thralls. That is what you thought, isn't it?" Angel asked as Xander arrived at Riley's side. "I will take none of them to my bed. I will simply bind them, clear their eyes, not take them as Mine Own. As more vampires are called to me, we will need more thralls. They will serve that purpose." Riley's jaw remained tightly clenched.

 

Gunn returned with Nic and Oz in time to hear that last. His eyes flew up to Alistair's. Was Angel preparing to give the new soldier to Alistair as his thrall? Before Gunn had even had time to make his own decision? The blond vampire's face revealed nothing. Gunn felt unexpectedly anxious.

 

"Hey!" Nic burst out. "What is Anders doing here? Is he OK?" He started over in that direction only to be halted by Spike's arm around him.

 

"Now is not the time." Spike whispered in his ear. "Hold off for a bit." Oz followed obediently not struggling as Nic did, his every instinct driving him to go and check on the man laying outstretched on the couch.

 

"Let go." Nic said, prying at the steel band of the arm around him. Spike had no intention of obeying that request.

 

"Stand down." Graham said, quietly, and Nic's attention was transferred to him. His brows shot up when he saw the grey eyed man was wrapped in a bed cover, and nothing else if his guess were right. He stared, stunned, no longer fighting Spike's hold. Graham's expression remained impassive. Graham ignored him, and went to Riley's side, also kneeling.

 

Gunn moved over to Alistair. He would not give in and ask about the thralls and Alistair. He would wait until there was a private moment. or if Angel tried to bind Alistair with the new man, then he'd say something.

 

Riley flinched away from Angel's touch as the vampire reached out. "Riley." Angel said, in exasperation. "I give you my word, they will not be my thralls."

 

"But they will be drinking your blood." Riley said, not raising his eyes. His tone was tight, hot, and tense.

 

"It is necessary. It will bind them to my service."

 

"Then you will be no better than Walsh." Riley said, lifting his blazing eyes to Angel's. The vampire sat back in surprise at the vehemence.

 

"You think so? Well, Riley Finn. Believe it if you will. You are my thrall and I think it has been too long since I showed you that." Angel stood giving Doyle to Xander. Then he lifted Riley in his arms, tossing him over one shoulder, and strode out of the room.


	48. Chapter 48

  
Author's notes: Riley and Angel rebond.  


* * *

Angel made short work of carrying the stunned Riley up the stairs to the next floor, for more than half the short journey Riley was too shocked to do anything, then he began to struggle. Angel delivered a smack to his buttocks, but otherwise just held him in place, nearly effortlessly, until they reached the bedroom.

 

"Damn it! Put me down." Riley snarled, furious he couldn't get free by himself.

 

"By all means," was Angel's mild reply.

 

Tossing him down on the unmade bed, Angel stripped the other with brisk efficiency, leaving him naked less than two minutes after they entered the room. Riley's thunderous expression made it very clear how outraged he was prepared to be. His first move was to kick out, aiming for Angel's own bare midsection, and missing as the vampire brushed the attack aside. Then he advanced on his unruly thrall.

 

Riley tried to get away, off of the bed, still annoyed with Angel for more reasons than he could name. He would not admit that the most pressing reason was about to be addressed. He wanted to belong to his master vampire. And he wanted the ownership to be plain to everyone who saw them. He did not want untold numbers of others to share in it. It was enough that there were already Graham, Xander, himself and Doyle. Doyle was both consort and carried an outward mark. Riley, didn't. Now the damned little vampire from Europe had been added to the mix. So Riley Finn, reformed hetero, was mad because he wasn't getting enough sex from his very male lover. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. Realizing that only made him madder. It embarrassed him.

 

 

Riley ground his teeth and scrambled partway out of Angel's hold. He did not feel at all like surrendering to the vampire, he felt like beating some sense into him. Or having Angel listen to him, to his worries. Cuddle him and agree with him that this was enough, that there wouldn't be any more. Or lay his hand on Riley's belly and have the bloodprint sink into *his* skin, permanently. Make a promise that Riley could believe, something that said "forever". Even as he thought it, he knew it would never happen that way, and the reality only made him more upset.

 

Riley had moved up in rank quickly. He'd earned respect. People listened to him despite his youth. He'd been second in command to Walsh at the Initiative, not to say that had worked out very well in the end. Now, no one was listening, he thought, forgetting that his opinion had just been solicited on the matter of the soldiers. Forgetting Angel had asked and had listened, until Riley started his temper tantrum. Now they were here. Angel treating him like a child. No! Hastily Riley corrected himself, not a child! He knew Angel would never allow a child to be in this circumstance, but the vampire was treating him like he had no right to make a decision of his own.

 

He elbowed Angel, hard, pulling up just short of full strength. Angel absorbed the blow with a grunt. Not striking back just blocking the flurry of blows that followed. Riley felt the rage building even higher as he found himself unable to do any damage at all. He was a highly trained soldier, experienced in combat situations, and he was being bested by a vampire. He screamed his fury, thrashing under the vampire, using fists, knees, elbows and what ever other parts of his body he could, while Angel simply rode it out, let him spend his energy, took the blows without seemingly feeling any pain. Enjoyed having all that hot, muscular, man's body writhing under him.

 

The struggle was invigorating for the vampire. Exciting the predator that he usually kept under wraps, except when it was needed. Now that predator was going to see a lot more time out and in play. It was what a king had to be. Strong, unflinching, decisive and a little bit cruel. If he failed, he wouldn't be king long. And every person, demon and vampire under his care would pay for it. He had to be stronger, faster, harsher, more ruthless than any of his opponents.

 

Riley's stamina was impressive, but finally he went limp, muscles exhausted, panting to replenish his body's need for oxygen, to flush out the lactic acid immobilizing his muscles, his shouts trickling off to relative silence as he gulped in air.

 

Angel lacked that weakness, the need to breathe. Now he leaned in, raking careful fangs over the sweaty, warm skin, not breaking the skin this time, not wanting to become blood-drunk again, and lose control with his thrall. He treasured the feel of the soft cock and balls against his belly. Riley didn't need Angel's maddened lust, Riley needed to be taken, held and controlled. It was Riley who needed his own madness released. Riley needed to know who he belonged to, that the matter was not up for debate.

 

Angel made short work of Riley's hands, knotting a twisted shirt around them, and tying it to the heavy bed frame. Riley moaned his reluctance to be tied, pulling weakly at the binding cloth. His arms twitched, but generated no great force. His fingers knotted around the cloth, digging at it.

 

Angel wasted no time in diverting his thrall's focus, licking over the flat, copper colored nipples that instantly peaked to hardness. Salty, hard, delicious. Riley moaned again as Angel chewed lightly on the nubs edging his pectorals, shooting little electric shocks through Riley's body. Riley arched up into that cool, wet mouth, shivering with the sensations that rippled through him.

 

"Angel!" He called out urgently. "No. please don't." Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't what he wanted. That he couldn't ask for what he wanted. He turned his head away, a sob catching him by surprise. Saw that the door was open. The. Door......Not closed, no privacy, none at all. No telling how many had heard his yells, what they had thought....Oh Ghod! He strained against the vampire's weight holding him down, against the tie fastening his hands. His blush burned his chest, his neck, his face a brilliant, humiliated red. He let out a long agonized cry, "Angel, oh Ghod, don't!"

 

"Hush. No words. Cry for me, scream, moan, let me hear your need, but no words. Words confuse feelings, My Own. Just give me the sounds of your passion." Angel said, his voice softer than Riley had ever heard it. His lips ghosting over the moist skin under his ear. Licking at the soft lobe, letting Riley feel the sting of needle sharp fangs, he yelled, surprised, and Angel turned his head, applying himself to the other ear, and all the skin around it. Another sharp sting, and the rush of adrenaline and desire tightening the skin all over his body, he shivered with the power of it, the intense surge of want. But still he could see the open door and the hall beyond it.

 

"The door...." Riley said, shocked all over again at the pleading note in his tone. Angel laughed against his skin, driving more, uncontrollable shivers though him.

 

"Forget the door, My Own. You are mine, and it is right that they should know that." Angel said, and Riley knew that was the last word.

 

It was no surprise to discover that Angel was an exhibitionist, the clues were there, Riley just hadn't paid a hell of a lot of attention. I mean how could he have not put two and two together after what just happened with Graham? Riley shivered at the eroticism of listening, in a group, to Graham's subdued cries of passion, knowing what was happening behind the blanket. The memory of it rendered him speechless for the second it took for Angel to return to laving his nipples, suckling them. Drawing so many groaning whimpers from him.

 

His nipples were tense points of pleasure by the time Angel lifted his head and looked at Riley with hooded, burning eyes. The tall blond turned his head again, unable to meet the dark eyes. His body was singing, hungry, tingling. Wanting. Angel licked his chest, and he shook under the onslaught. In spite of all the tremors, all the desire, Riley was still not hard, though he felt the slight thickening that preceded it.

 

Angel slid his hand under Riley's thigh, raising it, despite the shudders of nerves that were shaking his thrall. He watched the open display of Riley's body to his gaze, the heavy, not yet erect genitals, the head slick with precome, shining and beckoning. Angel let his breath feather across the taut tip of the semi-soft prize, but nothing more. He pushed Riley's other, strong leg up. Such lovely muscle, he could tell it was from physical exertion, not a gym, the muscle quality thick, pliant, superb, the places muscles crossed, deeply cut. The man's biceps were two glorious, corded, full curves he could see when he looked up that body, his chest rounded with power, Riley now spread open, a feast, nothing hidden. The chest worthy of worship, nipples glossy with spit, tantalizingly erect, so hard they reminded Angel of dark gemstones.

 

Angel reached for the oil. Holding the bottle high, he drizzled a thin stream over the full sac in front of him, smoothing it in with his eager fingers. Feeling the orbs move inside the fleshy pouch, then he let his thumb wander lower. To the often neglected area just behind the man's balls. Massaging gently, using the width of his own shoulders to defeat the involuntary flinch of Riley's thighs trying to close, trying to conceal, to hide this most secret, intimate place.

 

Angel watched Riley as he slid his fingers back the final inch and circled them around the entrance to his body. He touched the silky crinkle of flesh, spreading oil as he explored, he felt Riley stiffen in shock and knew it was both lust and shyness. Angel was not in a mood for the second emotion. He wanted loud, tearingly wet, satin lovemaking, he wanted to bury himself to the hilt in the tight portal he had too rarely breached. Thinking it drove him to slide his finger inside.

 

Riley was paralyzed with his shocking need as the finger slid in, long, but not long enough, thick but not thick enough. He lifted his head looked down and almost passed out with the surge of pure lust he saw on his vampire lover's face. Angel was watching his fingers disappear inside. Watching Riley's body open and accept them. Feeling the living velvet sheath squeeze down, pulse with reaction. He heard the groan, deep and aching, looking up to see the panting face of his thrall, mouth open, teeth clenched, eyes barely focused.

 

Angel curled his fingers up, catching the special place inside his human's body, massaging it with loving skill. Riley shuddered and let out a cry of disbelief, his thighs losing all strength falling wide, hips jerking, tiny moves, humping on those invading fingers. He was hard now, diamond hard, leaking fluid, pearly, running in a constant stream down his cock.

 

"Let me go!" Riley barely managed to get out the whole sentence. He threw back his head and screamed, as Angel's fingers did their magic tricks again. He felt like he had no bones, as if he had melted, his core burning hot, all liquid, the focus of everything down there, between his legs. And his hands were suddenly free, the shirt torn away, not what he'd wanted at all. He wailed. "Noooooooo."

 

And was gratified to learn Angel understood what he wasn't able to ask for, the vampire bending him over the edge of the bed, his head hanging, his breath like a bellows, but filled with sighs and moans and whimpers. And there, deep, striking him so deep was Angel, gliding into his body like they were made for each other, sword to sheath, Riley sobbed, thrashing his head back and forth, unsupported.

 

Angel, hard, cool steel flesh, so smoothly entering him, plumbing deep, riding him, his hips held in unnaturally strong hands, gripped with fingers digging into the hollows of his groin, where his thighs met his body, elbows forcing his knees wider, wider, until nothing stopped Angel from going all the way in. Riley's eyes rolling up. His mouth, panting, groans coming from him, wildly one after the other, as he was fucked, oh Ghod, so Ghod damn perfectly.

 

His skin contracted, starting at his head, and far away at his toes, tight, rippling all the way up and down, the pressure building, with every stroke of the vampire's thick meat inside of him, Ghod so big, so hard, so smooth, Riley let out a mewling sound of pure satisfaction, carrying outside the room, through the door, to the ears of every one still there in the Hotel, still listening, because how could you not...

 

Lorne sat, transfixed, one hand on the sleeping soldiers back, fingers gripping unconsciously, tight, crumpling the torn t-shirt in his big green fist.

 

Gunn in shock, his mouth open, his breath coming harshly, thinking how different this was, how different from what he normally wanted. How different from the quiet moans and nosies Graham had made. Those noises...they hadn't made him hard, these noises, the sound of Riley taking it, and taking it hard...Gunn wanted that.

 

Alistair his eyes cast down, his face the face of a suffering Botticelli angel, his mouth lovely in it's soft repose, his face a pure masculine beauty. His eyes when finally he looked up to meet the dark eyes of the man staring at him, like fantastic, smoldering green jewels. "I..." He said seeing the shock in the man, in Gunn's face, seeing the confusion, "I try not to let the beast free." He licked his lips, and Gunn almost fell to his knees watching that light pink tongue. "I try, but sometimes...I can not hold it in." Each word rang deeper, stronger, belling through the air, calling forth an echo far inside Gunn's gut. Calling, beckoning. Threads of gold bled out into the surprising green irises, overwhelming one color and becoming the other, molten, melted metal.

 

Graham was frozen in the chair next to Xander, his face in the were-human's neck, his breath coming short, the blanket wrapped around him head to foot, but no one doubted he was aroused, pressed full length against the other thrall.

 

Doyle was in Xander's arms, eyes wide, still as death, listening, to every cry and shout, to all the begging words cascading down from the room above. Each grunt, and scream of intense longing, of pained pleasure. Of Riley pleading, and Angel's deeper voice, in low, shiveringly intense counterpoint. He held on to Xander with numbed hands, terrified at the power of the coupling they all listened to.

 

Balthazar heard the sounds as if from a great distance, heated words, as if he needed more to drive him mad than the bare skin, hot blood and scent of his new thrall. Wesley taking up the cadence of the moans, with cries of his own, until the Hotel echoed with passion, filled to the rafters with the tension, waiting......

 

The last scream was the loudest, longest, a cry of at last met need, of mind blowing release, of weeping surrender. Riley shaking, trembling, his throat raw, hoarse, his arms hanging limply off the edge of the bed, Angel atop him, laying in his sweat, his fangs slipping out of the nipple they had pierced at the last moment, the twin rivulets of blood flowing, down his chest, to his throat, then his cheek, gathering the beads of sweat as they went, sweet, salty hot. His body seizing and releasing around Angel, who was still buried but softening. Giving a gentle, occasional lick to the flushed skin of his thrall as they lay together.

 

Spike was crouched, arms around his thralls in the back of the second floor meeting room. He was as aroused as he could be, and not strip his thralls and bury himself balls deep in one or both. Nic huddled against him, hands clapped over his ears, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Oz, quiet, but for the rapid shallow breaths he was drawing over and over. Spike listened. He was shaking with the strain of resisting the primitive urge. He would not take them here, out of control, like that. He would not....he would...not....he.....


	49. Chapter 49

  
Author's notes: Confusion reigns....Here come Heri.....  


* * *

The sounds coming from behind the bedspreads made it apparent Wesley and Balthazar were at it again. Long, low spine tingling moans, and gasps of shocked sensation, washed over the entire room. Adding to the ambiance...most of those in the room had some sort of enhanced senses. The sharp, rich scent of sex filled the air.

 

Spike huddled closely to his thralls. That way breathing meant he scented his thralls, not the humping researcher and vampire just out of eyesight. The maddeningly wonderful smell of his thralls was all that kept him anchored. The cries echoing in his ears, meant he was fighting for control. Wanting to sink his very insistent erection somewhere.

 

Spike ground his teeth together, feeling the prick of fangs. Gameface, just great! He was not doing this. Not here, not now, not like this. He didn't care if he was harder than a bloody pike right now. Wanting nothing so badly as to unbutton and find a warm, wet home to put the cursed, hard dick with a ghod-be-damned mind of it's own. Spike began hyperventilating. He. Would. Not.

 

"No. No. No. No. No." He hissed, barely in the range of hearing. Oz leaned in, framed his face with tender, bizarrely strong hands. Turned him so he could see the loved face, the dark eyes, so honest, the concern, the caring. A thumb pad brushed his lips,over one fang, drawing a bead of blood. Oz's blood. The blood of his first thrall gave the vampire back his focus. Spike kissed the precious drop away.

 

"No." Oz agreed. "Spike," he pressed their faces together, his mouth sweet as it pressed onto his, eased back, "It's over. It's OK." And Spike realized the moaning, the whimpers, the sounds, the fucking...it *was* done. Both from upstairs and from a few feet away. Over. Noise gone. Thank the Sainted Lord.

 

Spike rolled over onto his back. Pulled Oz down with him, catching his normally un-needed breath. Taking advantage of the time he had to rest, to hold the small man to him, while they sprawled on the carpet of that insane room. To relax.

 

Except Nic was still curled into a fetal ball, hands clapped over his ears, moaning his denials. Spike sat up, reached for him, was rewarded with a little scream when his hands touched the man, and a very practiced and accurate kick. Wide eyes, wild eyes, meeting his. Then Nic threw himself at Spike, scrambling over Oz to the vampire, clutching at him, clinging like a limpet. Spike gentled his hold. Tugged Nic in to rest against Oz and himself both. Shushing like a mother hen.

 

"Oh, Ghod. Oh, Ghod." Nic was saying. He was rigid, his cock, pressed unheeded, against Spike's hip. "I can't go through that. I can't do it." Spike knew exactly what the human was talking about. Losing all sense of control, wanting to rut mindlessly. Feeling as if you'd take on *anyone* just to get a bit of relief.

 

"It's over. You're fine, love. We've got you." Spike said embracing his thrall close, running his hand through the short, spiky, blue-black hair. Oz wriggled up behind Nic, adding his arms to the mix, placing the human at the center of the triple embrace. Spike kissed his forehead. Then Nic's. "It's done, love. No more." Nic shuddered, but started to relax.

 

"Let's go." Spike said, wanting nothing so much as to get out of this blighted room, and take his thralls with him before worse things befell them all. Worse things were waiting, he was sure of it. He surged up to his feet, Nic carried up along with him, dragging Oz behind. Heading straight for the door, nearly bowling over Alistair and Gunn, who were standing just staring at each other. The pale vamp, paler, the dark man, redder.

 

"Out of the way, you lovesick sods." Spike muttered. They stared at him. Uncomprehending. "Oh, piss off." He said next. He was not here to counsel oblivious fools. It was pretty obvious what was on both of those addled minds.

 

"Get the FUCK out of the way. All you wankers are all certifiable." Spike yelled when they just stood in his way. Lorne called out to him, from the couch where he was sitting.

 

"William. Spike." Lorne said. "Don't leave now. We have things to resolve. We have to talk."

 

"No *we* do *not* need to talk. Not with me you don't." Spike said, cradling Nic, glaring over the cap of his big thrall's shoulder at the demon. Lorne's face...was worried. He had the new soldier across his lap, holding him absently, petting him. Seeming not aware of using the soldier as a touchstone.

 

Spike snorted at that. "I'm considering everything resolved, and what isn't resolved, isn't my business any longer."

 

"Yes, business with you. You are the master's Childe. Angel's Childe." Lorne said, and the intensity with which he said the words, somehow halted Spike in his quest for the door. He turned back and looked into the crimson eyes. They were serious, not mocking, anxious, close to pleading.

 

"Spike." It was Xander, quieter than the Sunnydale version, but still Xander. "Just listen." Spike almost fainted. Xander talking to him? Not cracking lame jokes, or threatening to stake him? Telling him to listen? That was a hoot.

 

"Yeah, well I don't want the job! The bloody poof can make another Childe. Pro'lly take him less than ten seconds to do it now." Spike spat out. "He's gonna get us all killed, if you haven't figured that out for yourselves. Or make everyone of us his bloody thrall. And I won't let him do that to me. Best to take my chances elsewhere. Where we have some possibility of surviving."

 

"Spike. You have no choice. If you leave...others will pursue you." Lorne told him. Shifting on the couch, rearranging the soldier more comfortably, crooking his arm under the man's neck like a pillow. The man let out a groan. Lorne immediately focused on him.

 

"Are you awake, sweetie?" Lorne patted the man's cheek, peeled back an eyelid, but got no more out of him. "I guess not."

 

"They will use you against Angel if you leave, Childe." Alistair agreed. "Your thralls will not be safe. They will be used to control you. You have two. One might be slain, to show you what you risk. To show that they are serious."

 

"They? Who they? I am running a big enough risk hanging around this...this madhouse." Spike said, exasperated. "Why should I worry about "them"?"

 

"Oh, come on, Spike!" It was Xander, once more. "You've taken bigger chances than this. The "Big Bad", remember?" He chuckled, snuggling Doyle closer to him and to Graham. Graham who was still wrapped in the blanket. Spike flashed him a warning fang.

 

"Yeah, well, I didn't have them to look after then, did I? Now I've got responsibilities." Spike reminded Xander, angrily. Holding hard and fast to Nic and Oz. And they were the most important things.

 

"There is no where they will be safer than here. Within the king's house. Within the king's court." Alistair said.

 

"Huh. I bloody well don't believe that." Spike said. Lorne simply stared at him, he tilted his head. Alistair and Gunn were also staring. As if they expected him to do something. He looked farther over, saw the dark brown eyes of Xander fixed on him, and the cool grey ones of Angel's other thrall. Briefly he thought of flipping them off as he sped out the door. Then abruptly capitulated.

 

"Alright. Sit, sit." He lowered Nic onto the unoccupied couch, sat next to him, tucked Oz under one arm, Nic under the other. "So, talk."

 

Gunn and Alistair turned towards the others. Moved to sit, Gunn put out a hand to slow the vampire. Leaning in so there would be less chance of being overheard. "We...can we talk?" He asked, as low as he could. His touch brief, fleeting.

 

"Yes." Alistair replied, he hesitated, stopped, and waited, his head only an inch or two lower than Gunn's. Gunn realized after a confused moment the vampire was waiting for him to talk *here*.

 

"Some place...private. Later." The warrior clarified. "Not about this." Gunn waited, willing the other to understand. Alistair pinned him with incredible eyes. His crazily beautiful lips parted, Gunn fought not to lean in further.

 

Lorne spoke before the vampire could answer.

 

"We need to decide just how to retrieve his comrades in arms." Lorne delicately loosened his fist from the soldier's wrecked shirt, picking the tatters of fabric off of the soldier. He removed his own jacket, laid it over the boy, covering him. Lorne's thin silk shirt, faintly damp with sweat, clung to his body contour in a way that Gunn had never noticed before. As if painted on. Gunn frowned.

 

Lorne was big. Bigger than all of them, a fact usually hidden under his immaculately tailored suits, astonishingly well built, his muscles thick and impressive. Gunn was back to staring. Lorne plucked at the shirt, after noticing Gunn's look, fluffing the silk away from his skin, shifting the soldier further in front of himself, like a giant shielding pillow.

 

"We will talk...later." Alistair said in an undertone to the dark skinned man. "There is work first that must be done. Duty." His voice was so normal, back to the clear tenor, the voice that Gunn easily imagined had once called for glories to his ghod. Sweet, clear and pure. Calm. Gunn almost cried for the other voice, the one with the hidden ringing tones, the dark secrets. The voice that sent his blood rushing though his veins.

 

Gunn nodded once, sharply. "Yes. Later." And they sat. Lorne cleared his throat.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Fred was making a sandwich, her favorite, pickles, mustard, cream cheese and crunchy corn chips, when the chime sounded at the front door. She juggled the sandwich and a brimming glass of milk, munching as she headed that way, towards the front entrance, licking the dripping mustard off of her fingers.

 

She stood to one side of the glass door and peered out. Three men. Two very sturdy looking, one small, and ooops!, one about the same size, behind the one in the middle, who was being carried. Hmmm. She chewed some more while she thought about what she should do. She had no trouble seeing them through the glass, and they had no trouble seeing her. They waited for several seconds as if expecting her to say something.

 

"What do you want?" She asked them, when she'd gotten the last of the mustard off her hand, she'd already ruined one skirt this week. She took a big swallow of milk.

 

"The king of the European Court of Aurelius has returned Angelus' thrall. And sent us to his brother king as well." One of the bigger ones answered. "May we enter?"

 

"Angel is busy." Fred said. Taking another bite.

 

"Heronimous can not wait. He is ill. He must see his master. He requires the blood of his master." The second big one said. Sounding exactly like the first big one.

 

"Oh. You are twins." They blinked at her. Fred looked up the stairs. "I could ask if he can see you."

 

"Can we come inside?" They asked again.She considered that.

 

"I'll ask Alistair." She allowed. "Just a minute." She turned and headed for the elevator, not waiting for them to respond.

 

"Then, please, hurry. We will wait here, at your insistence." One of them called out after her as she disappeared.

 

Fred nodded, heading to the elevator. Angel might be in his room, or he might not be. The growling and grunting nosies had stopped. So maybe he was somewhere else. But she did know where the vampire Alistair was. She went for the sure thing.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Alistair, Xander, Doyle, and Spike went still at the same moment. Gunn, Graham and Lorne exchanged looks as their companions all looked out toward the lobby. Alistair stood, Gunn right behind him.

 

"What is it?" Gunn asked, axe once more in hand.

 

"Heronimous is returned." Alistair answered. "And he is not alone."

 

"Trouble?" Gunn asked as he came up from behind, looking down over the railing as they all headed for the staircase. Spike swore. Then turned to Oz.

 

"Watch him. Watch Nic. I'll be back as soon as I can." He said, Oz looked at him.

 

"It is best if we come with you." He said. Spike shook his head.

 

"Not this time." Spike said. Oz nodded.

 

"We will watch from up here then." He agreed to calm his vampire. And Spike knew that was the best he could ask for. He grabbed the small man and kissed him fiercely. Ruffled Nic's hair.

 

Xander was already outside the room, Graham following, blanket wrapped around him like a fuzzy toga. Alistair was at the front. Balthazar rose like a black cloud from behind the bedspreads, stepping around them and heading, naked, for the door. Wesley was far slower, rising as if he ached, clutching his torn trousers in one hand.

 

Oz stood, picking one of the spreads off of the chairs, and holding it out. Then he led the man to stand at the railing with Nic, who had an arm around the much smaller Doyle.

 

"Uh. Xander told me to watch him." Nic said, his voice stronger than it had been, protective. Oz nodded. Lorne didn't say anything, just stood towering, holding the soldier in his arms.

 

"Good." Oz said. And they watched as Gunn, Balthazar, Xander and Spike followed Alistair. The elevator dinged, the old, ornate door sliding slowly open. Fred emerged, nibbling on a sandwich. She smiled at them.

 

"Angel has visitors." She chirped, the sound a little muffled by the cream cheese filling her mouth. She walked over to lean against Lorne as she chewed, watching the scene down in the lobby, her head resting comfortably against one of his bulging biceps.


	50. Chapter 50

  
Author's notes: Heri returns. And brings company.  


* * *

"Romulus. Remus." Alistair greeted the vampires carrying the weakly writhing form of Angel's fourth thrall. The impossible one, first of his kind.

 

"You are returning Heronimous to Angel?" He asked, not looking at the thrashing form any longer, once he had identified it. Heronimous...should not be posslible. That he was here, in front of them all...did not change that. He was a predator, a dominant creature, unmade, to become...this. A thrall. Alistair halted a few feet in front of them, his face impassive, waiting, nothing revealing his interest or his horror at what the other was.

 

Heri moaned aloud, his skin slick with a sickly sweat. He felt as if his insides were being torn from his body with dull claws. Ripping and hurting, terrible cramps shaking him top to bottom. He tried to get control of his body, tried to demand that he could stand on his own, but not even words were in his control. All he could think of was of hunger, need. The blood of the vampire he had laughed at for a hundred years. Had teased. Had denied. Toyed with. Now he would give half his life, or really all of it, to taste that so fine vintage that was Angelus's blood. Blood of his master. Blood that was life.

 

"Our king sends him back to Angelus dei, Alistair." The twin on the right said. Giving a slight bow in recognition of the blond vampire's new position. Gunn watched the dynamic, wondering just what it meant. How safe was it to have these new ones in the Hotel? All in all, he'd much prefer them staying outside rather than coming in. And he had certainly not missed the...title they had given after Angelus' name. He was already pretty sure he knew what that meant.

 

"He could not break the bond?" Balthazar asked, stepping up from behind. Earning a silent, double glance from head to bare toes, and all the smooth, chocolate skin in between. "He could not reclaim his vampire as his own?" The tone was almost gleeful. Balthazar let the points of his fangs show.

 

"He could not." Remus agreed with the dark vampire's assessment. "You are unclothed, Balthazar. Have we interrupted you at something?" He sniffed delicately at the air, his tone nothing but polite.

 

"I have bonded with my thrall." Balthazar said, the emphasis on the word thrall not missed by any in earshot, his glacial, black eyes not inviting congratualtions. There was an almost imperceptible stiffening of both twins hearing that. They shifted until their shoulders brushed, then relaxed. Balthazar stood, hands loose at his sides, his face coolly impersonal, waiting.

 

At last the reaction he was waiting for came. They bowed their heads a fraction. Nothing more. Gunn might be only human, but even he picked up on the change in the air. Balthazar's being bonded meant that much. Gunn felt another unwelcome surge of urgency, of knowledge he wished he could ignore.

 

Balthazar had this "extra" now. Extra power, extra healing, extra respect. Alistair, by far the worthier in Gunn's eyes, did not. Not yet. Angel had intimated it was more than a whim, it was...crucial. Not to be put off. Gunn was beginning to believe that was both true and a vast understatement. If not himself, Gunn felt a stabbing pang he recognized as jealousy, then some one other than himself. For the sake of Alistair's life.

 

Jealousy. Gunn was not comfortable calling it that, recognizing it. But it was the truth. That was what it was. He didn't want anyone else to be Alistair's thrall. He might not want to go to bed with the vamp, but he wanted to be at his side. The power that he'd seen and felt when Angel's mating had washed over all of them, the dark beast he had seen, the warrior that Gunn was sure had touched his soul for a fleeting moment, he *wanted* that one. Gunn wanted that, more than he could say. He wanted that brother-in-arms at his side. And he could have him. If he said yes. If he lay down.

 

Nothing was free. He knew the price he was being asked to pay. Alistair had been honest with him. Though the vampire could have gotten what he wanted much more easily with a small lie. Even so, he had told Gunn the full truth of what it would mean to them. Of what he would lose, give up. Gunn considered it carefully. No women, no children, no sex again, except if he had it with a...male vampire. Gunn was not sure which of those was worse in his mind. The male part, or the vampire part. And he didn't fool himself. The sex would happen. Out of need. Out of lust. Out of the mysterious ties that formed in the bonding of thrall to master. He was not being asked if he could give up sex. He was being asked if he could have sex with a partner who was like no other that he had ever felt desire for. And continue having that intimacy.

 

He tried to wrap his mind around it. Gay sex. Homosexuality. Or was it? He was not homosexual. He didn't feel gay. And would notfeel that way, even if he had sex with a man. Sexuality was not just what you did, it was how you felt. He almost smiled to listen to himself struggle with labels. He carried one proud label already that had brought him pain and blatant condemnation from the world outside. He was a black man. A proud black man. Nothing else could hurt him, damage him, bring him down, not once he found the strength and power in that label. He knew his soul. He knew his battle. He knew his destiny. And that meant, he knew his decision. The only one he could make. What was right for him, and for Alistair.

 

Now, this very moment, up on the second floor landing behind them, Lorne was holding a man who might be the answer to all their problems. The soldier boy called Anders. An enemy sent by the bitch who had put all of this into motion. Ander's coud have been Alistair's. But Gunn knew it wouldn't be necessary. No longer. His decision changed the kid's destiny as well as his own.

 

Riley thought it was beneath them to bind the soldier unwilling. But Riley was...well to be frank, he was a tall, handsome, young, white man in a tall, handsome, young, white man's world. Sure he knew about demons and the Hellmouth, and the end of the world, and fighting the forces of evil. Sure he knew love, and loss and heart ache. Gunn liked him. It wasn't his fault that he and Gunn weren't the same. That the world treated them so differently. It simply was.

 

Riley didn't really know about survival on the streets. Of fighting just to live, not for some huge, noble cause. But just because no one cared if you lived or died, and honestly, it was more conveinent for many if you died, so...if you would just die it would be so much better....Gunn shook himself out of that funk. He wouldn't listen to that kind of defeatist mind talk any longer. Nor would he EVER forget the insight knowing it, living it, had given him.

 

He shook off the daydreaming and moved to flank Alistair, making it clear to everyone who his allegiance lay with. Alistair made no move to acknowledge it, but Gunn knew he felt it, knew Alistair accepted it and valued it. He could also sense Blathazar was not the happiest vamp in the foyer.

 

"But, Angelus has not bound *you*. Why are you here? Why did you not simply leave him at our doorstep? His thrall could have entered and found help for him." Balthazar asked, his question a chilled wind. Alistair turned to look at him, pursing his lips so faintly Gunn thought he might have imagined the movement. Then he turned back to the guests. Nodding for Romulus to speak.

 

"The king bade us to stay at the new court. With Angelus dei." Romulus answered. Alistair merely looked at him. Gunn tapped the haft of his axe on the floor to break the tension, rewarded when the visitor flinched. Gunn gifted the new vampires with his best blank face. The silence grew. Broken by the one Gunn least expected to act as he did.

 

Xander stepped forward, sniffing the air. Approaching the vampires and their moaning burden. He asked no one for permission, and neither Balthazar nor Alsitair moved to stop him. He touched the damp skin, lifted his fingers to his mouth, tasted them.

 

Gunn looked him over, tall and strong, other than human. It rolled off him in waves, the unhumanness. Like he was some alpha-bitch in some wolf-pack Gunn had seen on the Discovery Channel. As if he was walking through his pack, with the authority of his place written all over him, bumping and brushing up angainst those he considered his. Marking them. Like an animal. Dependant on more than sight, like humans were.

 

Xander sniffed, and tasted, and touched. He bit and listened and took what he thought of as his. Gunn had seen it, but only just now, while he was watching it being done to the prostrate vampire thrall, did Gunn really see it for what it was. Xander considered Angel's people his own. He saw himself as their keeper, and them as his by right. Xander stuck his morphed nose into the crook of the vampire's neck and inhaled, pulled back, fangs bared, eyes yellow not warm brown. Gunn shuddered. That face...fuuuuck. Gunn would take gameface over that half human, half hyena face anyday, everyday. And he was not the only one who felt that way. He saw the new visitors staring at Xander with a barely discernable horror in their eyes.

 

"Bring him." Xander said, not really caring that he had interrupted the not so subtle posturing going on between the vampire's. Not caring either about the looks he was receiving. This was his place. They would bow to him when he wished it. He strode regally towards the stairs.

 

"Now wait a bleeding minute, furboy." Spike said, when he finally got his tongue untied. Seeing the boy act like this....well it was un-nerving. All right...down right disturbing. "That is not how vamps do things. What's to stop them from being UN-civilized once they get inside the hotel? They've sworn no oaths." Xander ignored him.

 

"Shall we swear them to you, William, Childe of Angelus?" Remus asked letting his tone grow sharper. Shaking off the unease that had taken over his reactions when the...lycanthrope who did not act, nor feel like an lycanthrope, was near him. He had never felt like that before, except around his king. Something deep in him, deep in the mist of his past was calling to him, howling to be heard. Remus supressed it. Now was not the time. He felt Romu's echoing shiver.

 

"No." The voice rang out. Angel exited the elevator, meeting up with Xander who brushed against the tall vampire. Angel cupped his palm around Xander's cheek, and the thrall licked it. Riley a half step behind, fully dressed. Xander moved on, to rub against the other thrall, looping an arm around his waist. Riley immediately started to flush, cursing his too pale skin. Xander growled low under his breath, not threatening, but a sound that made Riley want to moan. He reaction seemed to please Xander, who led him forward, in the wake of their master.

 

"You will speak your oaths to me." Angel said, tone mild. He moved toward the group, stopping to put a hand on each of his vampires as he reached them. The tension diminished at each touch. He then turned his full attention on the guests.

 

"Enter my home, Romu, Remy, bring Heri. Konstantine," Angel held out his arm. The short thrall hurried forward, face averted, accustomed to obeying. He rested his trembling hand on the black silk covered arm of the king of LA. Angel let himself smile. His gaze stopped on his Childe. He held out his freee arm.

 

"William." Angel said. "Attend me please." He shifted cold, hard eyes to the visitors, who for some reason at that very moment turned towards him, looked into his face. "You will also swear allegiance to my Childe, as you suggested." Spike gaped. "I swore to him he and his would be safe here. I intend to keep my word."

 

"Well, alright then." Spike agreed. If it was for the safety of his thralls, he would see it done. He would let these uppity Euro-buggers drink a bit of his blood. For Oz and Nic. He might even bite *them* a little. Make it real clear who was boss. Especially when it came to a certain two thralls.

 

"Then come." Angel said and led the way back up the stairs, the procession trailing behind him.

 

"Uh, uh." Spike said when he'd figured out where they were headed. "Not that room again. Surely you have another, place big as this. That room has had a curse laid on it." He scowled his hardest, coldest, least likely to be budged, most stubborn scowl.

 

"Of course, William. This way." Angel, fought not to smile at the mulish expression on his Childe's face, changed his direction and went to a room further down the hall. Xander took the opportunity to check on Riley, running his hands all over him, holding him back a little from the others.

 

"Xan!" Riley hissed. "Stop it! Not now." Xander looked at him through slitted lids, eyes burning yellow. Riley sighed. "You are embarrassing me! Later, OK?" Xander bit him. Gently, but Riley yelped. They looked into each other's eyes, Riley getting the message loud and clear. He'd been in the military long enough to recognize, without words, when rank was being pulled on him. The ex-soldier stood, rather sullenly, while the rest of the crowd from the second story landing arrived, filing past, allowing Xander to complete his snuffling examination.

 

Finally Xander petted him with possessive, soothing hands and Riley, face flaming was permitted to enter the new meeting room. By this time a silent Graham, in hastily donned clothing, was at his side. They exchanged looks of understanding. Yep. At the bottom of the heap. Again.

 

"At least he left your clothes on." Graham whispered. And Riley was vividly reminded of what Xander had done to Graham during his friends "examination". His receding blush was suddenly full force again. Even blushing, he and Graham made their was without further delay to Angel, sitting at the vampire's feet. Noting Doyle was sitting in the chair next to their master, and Xander sitting on the arm of the chair. Xander reached out and stroked his hand down Riley's hair. Angel buried his fingers in Graham's.


	51. Chapter 51

  
Author's notes: Heri is bound. Gunn and Alistair...almost...talk.   


* * *

Spike immediately headed for Nic and Oz, taking time to look both over, running his hands up and down, not missing a square inch, even looking inside their mouths for potential problems, much as Xander had with Riley in the hallway.

 

Spike could well appreciate the were-thrall's concern over his..uh...friend, fellow thrall, companion... whatever he called them. This place...it was not the healthiest place to raise, and care for, a thrall! Spike finished his too brief exam, secretly wishing they were in a place of privacy so he could undress them a give them a true looking over, and breathed a great gusty sigh of relief before he hugged them, and put them firmly behind him, glowering at anyone and everyone who dared to look their way.

 

Angel sat and gathered his thralls around him, Xander perching on the arm of his chair, Riley and Graham resignedly at his feet, Riley's ahir still askew after his encounter with Xander. Doyle was inches away, sitting in his own chair, which Angel found a bit troubling, he wanted his consort near, and within touching distance, but he put it out of his mind for the moment. He could see Doyle, hear his heart, listen to his breath. For now it was sufficient.

 

Angel patted his thralls, smoothing their hair affectionately. Watching as the visitors tried to find a comfortable place to be, wary of allowing themselves to be surrounded in hostile, or potentially hostile, territory. He forestalled them in their search for relative safety with a command to bring the vampire who was his thrall to him. Remus and Romulus obeyed, Heri's human thrall standing uncertainly, then pursuing them, falling to his knees as he neared Angel. Face beseeching that he be allowed to stay near.

 

Balthazar, with Wesley behind him, peering over his shoulder, took up a post just inside the door, arms loose and ready at his side. His eyes flickered gold to black, black to gold. Wesley had offered the dark vampire a blanket to cover himself, but Balthazar only snarled at him, throwing it down and away, dragging Wesley up close. Gunn was standing shoulder to shoulder beside Alsitair, guarding the doorway. Both tall and serious faced, Gunn's shaved head gleaming, dark polished teak, Alistair's hair glowing, rich blond, like liquid honey. They waited and observed.

 

"Come, give Heronimous to me. He is mine." Angel held out his arms, and felt Xander shifting on the chair arm to make room. Not a lot of room, Xander wanted to stay very close, wanted to be in range in order to touch the newest thrall, but enough that the small vampire wasn't dumped on the floor. Xander easily took the European vampire's lower body and legs across his own lap. As the twins edged away, Xander clamped a burly arm around the shifting, restless thighs of the vampire thrall. Heri moaned, a lost, pain-filled sound. His face contorted with his suffering. Xander petted him, letting out a low, purring growl, strangely it was a soothing sound, lessening the distressed motion.

 

Angel bit into his own wrist, fangs sinking deep, reveling in the tiny jot of pain, not about to allow Heri the privilege of a bite, and lowered it to Heri's chapped lips, watching the fall of thick, red drops spatter on the sallow cheeks, run off his face to soak into his hair.

 

The smaller vampire's mouth fastened onto him, hands flying up to grip tightly, slim, white fingers digging in, the writhing halted, stilled. Heri let out a disbelieving sound, joy, relief, hunger, all intermixed. Every bit of his attention focused on the fresh, pumping, wonderous blood filling his mouth. He swallowed. And swallowed. Xander was stroking his belly as he fed, an...almost motherly, but fierce and proprietary, look on the werehyena's face.

 

Konstantine, kneeling at Angel's feet, watched the were-thrall with trepidation and a sort of disbelieving horror, he let out a small whimper, and Graham took pity on him, putting out a hand, and gently drawing him in, to rest between himself and Heri's dangling legs. The smaller, slender thrall, ducked his head, cringing when Xander shifted and nearly touched him with a foot. Even frightened, Konstantine still found the courage to shimmy forward a fraction, and lay his face against Heri's thigh, holding onto the vampire's calf with both hands, screwing his eyes tightly shut. His lips moved in silent prayer that his master vampire would be well.

 

Heri finally let go of Angel's arm, head falling back, he panted, thin chest heaving as he felt the un-life flow back into his body, reviving his tissues, rehydrating his cells, he was willing to just lay still and enjoy the moment without pain. Without mind numbing need for blood he could not have. He licked his mouth. Tasting it. Nectar. Angelus' blood.

 

Heronimous heard the pounding of a familiar heartbeat, fast and afraid. Kon. His thrall was frightened. Groaning, he flailed out with his hand and found the face of his thrall. The contact brought immediate relief, Kon stopped his ragged panting as Heri's fingers laced into the silky hair of the other male. Kon let out a muffled sob and pressed his dry lips to the palm of his vampire.

 

"Shhh." Heri said, struggling to sit, Angel helped him. He would gain strentgh rapidly, but in these few minutes after the desperately needed feeding, he was still disoriented and weak. Angel ran a hand over his chest, and Heri froze, eyes seeking the other vampire, licking his lips nervously. Angels' dark eyes held his own, burning, intent, undeniable. Heri gulped.

 

"Konstantine...he willl be safe?" Heri asked, voice roughened, hoarse. "Your word, master, that my thrall will be safe. It is all I ask of you."

 

"You are mine, Heronimous. My interests are your interests now. Konstantine will be safe, and he will remain yours. There will be no other master for him to serve. So long as you are mine." Angel said. Not requiring the other vampire to stop touching his alarmed thrall, he was comforting him with tender fingers, Kon's face now buried in the bend of his hip.

 

The words Angel uttered, themselves doing the binding, whether or not the other vampire said a word in response. Angel had taken him, made him a thrall, wound his will around his own, and Heri had no choice but to follow, to serve. He was thoroughly Angelus' creature now. He bowed his head.

 

"Yes." Heri said, his tone carefully neutral. "I am yours." Angel made no effort to keep the satisfaction from his voice.

 

"I never intended this for you. I thought your king would take you back." Angel answered. "But I do not regret that it *is* this way. that he could not return you to his service."

 

"It does not matter how it began, it is this way now." Heri agreed, no emotion in his words. Angel would have said more if Lorne had not interrupted him.

 

"Lovely reunion, boys, but I am afraid we have to cut it short. Angel. It is time." Lorne said, tapping his large faced Rolex watch. "The soldiers will be changing shift very soon. We can take three as they leave sight of their comrades. Then enter the building and take three more. That will only leave the two at the hotel where they are all staying. Easy enough to pick them up."

 

Angel stood. "Very well. Get ready. Give me five minutes. It is too close to dawn for any of the vampires to go. You will stay here, Spike, Alistair and Balthazar, keep an eye on thigs here, entertain our guests. Nic, Xander, Riley, Graham. Doyle if you are up to it?"The smaller demon nodded, not saying anything, but getting to his feet. "Go get ready. Heri, come here. I will be very displeased if there is trouble here, of any kind." Heri nodded, stiffly.

 

Alistair said. "I can go, the sun..." He began, but Angel held up a hand.

 

"No. I wish for you to stay here, Alistair." He told the other vampire. Alistair nodded, fighting to keep his eyes from straying to look at Gunn.

 

"Now wait a minute." Spike exclaimed anxiously, his frown putting point on what he thought of that idea. "You can't mean to take Nic without taking me. It is not safe."

 

"Yes. I can. He is a soldier. He is trained for this. You on the other hand...will die if the sun hits you." Angel growled at him. "Stay here."

 

"I'll take the sewers." Spike said, at once, unwilling to give up. "Nic can go with me." Angel looked at him as he buttoned the the cuff of his long sleeved shirt. He thought about the proposal. Then he nodded.

 

"Very well. If there is a connection in the sewers, and not before you hear that were are inside. I don't want them to be alerted." Angel warned. "I am trusting you not to mess this up. I want the men caught clean. No chance to send out an alert."

 

"Fine." Spike said. "This is LA, there is nothing but sewers under this city. One big cesspit." He muttered the last. It was one reason demons like vampires loved this place, plenty of under ground travel. Until Angelus arrived and claimed most of the sewers for himself. And forbade killing in them, or drinking from unwilling victims above or below the street. It didn't make a difference in the far reaches of the city, but here, around his Hotel, where he frequently traveled, it was safe enough.

 

Spike had heard an earful from vamps passing through Sunnyhell on their way further north. Angel was complained about, vociferously, but not many dared to contradict him, go against his 'law'. Now, with the Grimm calling him the vamp king...well things were not going to loosen up around here for a while. Idiots looking to make a name for themselves were going to start showing up soon, and challenging Angelus. From what Spike had seen, all those unwitting and naive challengers were going to die. He didn't want to think about just what Angelus was capable of, and what his limits really were. If he had any.

 

He cleared his throat. "Alright. Nic, you will stay with me, behind me. I don't want to see a scratch on you. Not one. Not even a small one." He patted the larger man's chest. Nic pressed his lips shut to keep in the protestations that he could take care of himself. Spike wasn't ready to hear that now. Oz made a small coughing noise hiding his grin behind his hand. Spike seized him and kissed him soundly.

 

"Up. In the room. Door locked. Understand, pet? Don't come out until I, uh, we come back, or the hotel burns down. Promise me, love." Oz nodded solemnly. Spike kissed him again, far gentler this time. Then the pale, platinum haired vampire turned and headed out of the room.

 

^^^^^^^^

 

Gunn put his hand out, laying it on Alistair's arm as he was about to go out into the dawn and leave the vampire behind.

 

"We still need to talk." Gunn said, keeping his voice low, even. His dark brown eyes met the plae green ones of the vampire, steady.

 

"Yes. Bring yourself safely back. Then we will talk." Alistair clapped his hand over Gunn's. Their gazes met, held, locked. "Fight well, my brother. Would that it was my master's will that I be beside you."

 

"Me, too. Be ready. I will be back before you know it. Then, I want you to answer all my questions." Gunn said, letting go of the other's arm, reluctantly.

 

"I will be waiting." The blond vampire said. And he watched as Gunn left the building.


	52. Chapter 52

  
Author's notes: The soldiers are captured.  


* * *

Graham and Riley were floored by the extensive arsenal Angel Investigations had under lock and key. Angel fiddled with the locks and flung the concealing, art deco panels open. They exchanged a glance, as everyone reached for their own personal favorites. Wesley was sputtering behind them, demanding to know why he shouldn't lend a hand. Angel was ignoring him. Balthazar was not.

 

"Be silent, thrall." The dark vampire ordered, imperiously. "You are newly joined. You will remain here."

 

"I beg your pardon." Wesley sputtered. Telling him to be quiet was not the best way to handle him in any situation. His cheeks pinked up with indignation immediately.

 

"You are to stay here." Balthazar repeated, his voice even more haughty and authoratative, he crossed his arms over his chest, his black eyes glittering. Graham was watching with interest, wanting to see just how far this would go. "I will not have you out fighting."

 

"Because you say so? I think not...I am sure I can lend a hand." Wesley began, hotly. Angel finally interrupted.

 

"Wesley. Bathazar is right. You are newly bonded. You must stay this time." The Master vampire turned to the dark vampire. "And you, you should find another way to talk to your thrall." Then Angel ignored the two of them. And that, it seemed was that. Graham turned back to the weapons.

 

There was literally a wall full of armaments, hidden behind ornate carved panels on the first floor of the hotel. Of course most of the weapons were old, edged weapons, probably with great historical and mystical value, and worth tons of money, but there were a few guns as well. Modern ones. The kind Graham and Riley wouldn't mind relying on in a firefight. But the object of today's exercise, was to capture the men, but not be noticed while doing so. Even in LA, someone would think it strange if they were carrying automatic weapons.

 

Graham took a handgun and field stripped in seconds, looking it over with an expert's eye. It was clean, lightly oiled, well maintained. When it met his approval he reassembled it and loaded it, checking the action, while Riley was doing the same next to him, so used to each other that their moves were in perfect synchrony. Hands moving like shadows of each other. The two ammo clips sliding home at prcisely the same instant.

 

The last thing they wanted to do was shoot at men they had once worked with, with faces they knew, names they knew, and histories they could recite from memory. Men they had had time to get to know, but not form the tight friendships with that more time might have developed.

 

Most of the newer Initiative soldiers were very young, barely 18 or 19. There was a war going on overseas. The Initiative was still getting promising soldiers, but not ones with field experience. Men with experience were going to Iraq. Riley and Graham had not had enough time with any of them to bring them up to speed. But in every Op, there was always the factor of chance. So they weren't discounting this as being easy, a piece of cake or anything like that. The two of them would not draw an easy breath until it was over and everyone was back inside the hotel, unharmed.

 

They were both a bit surprised to see Xander there, next to them, stripping down his own weapon, hands quick and precise, not expecting to see him with the same ease with guns they had, as if he'd been around them for years. Riley tried to remember ever seeing the other man with a gun, and he could not. Xander looked up, met their eyes and said nothing, hand busy, preparing the gun he'd chosen. A small pile of stakes sat on the table beside him.

 

Once they had their preferred arms in hand they returned to the others. Xander handed Doyle the gun he'd chosen and began pulling off of his clothing. Riley and Graham also watched that, very curious. Gunn was busy, sparing them all barely a glance as he leaned in close to Alistair, the two of them talking intently. Doyle waited as Xander folded then placed his clothing neatly on the circular couch in the front lobby. Then Xander morphed into his hyena form, and Doyle slipped a leash and collar onto him.

 

He made a very large and threatening looking dog, Graham thought with an internal shudder. His shoulders coming up to Graham's hip height. His fur yellow, brown, with black around his muzzle and down his leg, bristling, his eyes an odd, glowing yellow. Eyes that said quit clearly, that *this* was not a normal dog. The reaction of the soldiers to Xander was going to be interesting.

 

Graham's first instinct if he saw such a creature approaching him, would be to shoot it. Probably several times in rapid succession. No way would he allow it near him, or anyone he was with, if he was out on patrol. Xander did not look like a normal pet. He was big, and broad through the chest, looking like he belonged on some ancient battlefield somewhere, an animal of war, he was one scary dog. But, with the delicately built Doyle, who looked anything but threatening himself, holding the lead...well perhaps the Initiative's soldiers would hesitate long enough for Doyle and Xander to get close. Gunn would be right behind them, ready to help.

 

Angel made no effort to conceal his identity, nor did he take a weapon that could be used against humans. He did take two wooden stakes, slipping them into the holders at his belt, hidden under his long, duster coat. Then it was time and they headed out the side entrance through the small, vine draped courtyard. Gunn was at their backs, arrayed in his street clothes, loose and baggy and hardly worth a second glance. Under his loose jacket, were a dozen knives and a short sword and well as a number of wooden stakes.

 

They worked their way up the alley, where Doyle, with Xander tugging at the lead, exited onto the street. His Dodger's cap pulled low over his forehead, Doyle was unrecognizable. Doyle with his alarming pet Xander, went merrily down the sidewalk, empty at this time of morning, while the others went further up the back alleys until they could come out onto the street, crossing it unobserved.

 

Then, once on the other side of the street they made their way through the alleys there, intent on arriving at the back door of the abandoned and boarded up building without a soul the wiser. Angel was going to position himself so he could monitor Doyle and Xander's progress and still signal the others to enter the abandoned building when the time was right. Gunn slouched down the street after the three young soldiers who had just come off shift and were headed towards the meandering Doyle.

 

Doyle was almost to the front of the building when the three departing soldiers arrived on the sidewalk. He spent a few convincing minutes pretending to get disentangled, Xander raced around him, hopping and leaping, doing his best to tangle Doyle up again, while yipping and trying to look playful and harmless. He looked more like a bouncing rhino than an happy-go-lucky sheppard.

 

"Damn, that is one fucking ugly dog." One of the soldiers muttered to his companions. They were all looking at Xander.

 

"Ugly? Forget that, that is the biggest damn dog I've ever seen." The second soldier hissed back.

 

"Like one of those Great Danes, but bigger. Like those hounds, the tall skinny ones. But, not so skinny." The last soldier supplied. None of them noticed Doyle. They were all fixated on Xander. Doyle smirked. OK, so he was not the distraction. Fine. Doyle continued on down the sidewalk, playing at being an exasperated owner who was just trying to get free of the leash. Xander made sure he couldn't.

 

Doyle pulled Xander in near to his leg as they walked, patting the large animal's side, acting as if he was attempting to calm the great beast, talking to him, and never stopping his attempts to get his feet free of the lead. Xander raced around, his fearsome jaws stretched in a gruesome smile. The soldiers were gaping at the display.

 

"Holy...the size of the thing! Shit! Mother f....! Give them some room." The three moved aside, letting Xander and Doyle pass. As soon as they were abreast of the men, Doyle pretended to stumble, finally unable to win his ongoing battle with Xander's leash, toppling over to his hands and knees. Xander growled, freezing the men in the automatic act of reaching out to help the slight man who had fallen. Xander slammed into them as they went for their guns, they all went ass over teakettle, over the low wall behing them. Doyle was up and standing above them, gun aimed, Xander snarling, Doyle smirking as he stepped behind the wall.

 

"Not a move, boys. I haven't handled a gun in a fair bit. I might forget and shoot you if I get nervous at all." He made a show of checking the safety." Yep, safety's off. Just lay still. That's right. Hands up, away from your weapons. Xander? Gunn?" Doyle said over his shoulder.

 

The look on the faces of the men was priceless when Xander changed into a large, naked man. Squatting down, he frisked them, apparently not discomfitted at all by his own nakedness, taking their guns, Gunn arriving and using their own thick, plastic cuffs to restrain them, pulling them to their feet like they were small children.

 

"Not a squeak." Doyle said again, taking up a position behind the three, as Gunn and Xander dragged the men off into the underbrush. He followed his aim never wavering.

 

Angel, watching from behind the building, saw the take down and signaled Riley and Graham who surreptitiously entered the building, while Angel himself headed off to help Doyle, Gunn and Xander get the men across the street and into the hotel without being seen. After they were secured, the last two would be sought out at the hotel Anders had told Lorne they were staying at.

 

Hidden in the sewers, Spike heard the entrance and popped up through the grate in the basement, pausing to make sure there were no threats to his thrall sneaking around in the darkness, then he levered the young man up and out of the hole, with one arm. In spite of himself, Nic was impressed all over again. Of course, he was less impressed when Spike tried to hold him behind the vampire, using his own body as a shield. Biting his tongue he said nothing. During an Op was not the ideal time to discuss anything.

 

They stole down the corridor. Up to the second floor. Spike listening all the way. He hit the front lobby silent as a ghost, Nic right beside him, gun in hand, eyes sweeping the area for problems. Two of the young men were there, lounging in front of the mostly boarded up window. Nic was up and behind one, muzzle of the gun pressed to the bare neck. Spike took care of the other one, looping a long, leather clad arm around his throat.

 

"Not a word, Sam." Nic whispered. "Or I will shoot you. Got it? Where is your third?" The soldier nodded his understanding, eyes widening when they lit on Spike who was holding the other, squirming man. All the Initiative soldiers were familiar with Hostile 17. He shook his head at the last question.

 

There was the sound of a brief scuffle and a grunt, interrupting Nic before he could ask again where the third member of the trio was. Riley materialized at the door, Graham behind him. A third soldier grappling with them, not having the sense not to fight. The soldier had a strange looking short barrelled crossbow in his hand. He dropped it and the butt hit the ground, sharply. There was a deeper grunt, swearing, a thwap sound and Nic felt like he'd been kicked in the ass, his leg going out from beneath him.

 

"Nic!" Spike yelled. Tossing his soldier against the wall, where the man crumpled down to the floor. The man Nic had been holding, Sam, went down with Nic, Nic sprawling on top of him, until Spike tore him away, tossing him at Graham and Riley.

 

"Everyone OK?" Riley called out, securing the second man, while Graham had the shooter down and cuffed.

 

"No, not everyone is all right, you silly sod. My Nic's been hit. Where are you hurt, love?" Spike tore at Nic's jeans, tearing them like tissue paper, bearing the one thigh and most of his ass. His hands floated over the sluggishly leaking hole in Nic's upper thigh, there was a second hole higher up, with something sticking partway out of it.

 

"What the fuck?" Spike muttered. It wasn't a bullet. It was a...hunk of wood about the length of his own index finger, and about the same width. Stuck in his lovely Nic's flesh. His adorable thrall. Spike changed to full gameface without thought, rounding on the man who had shot his thrall. Nic's hand on his arm stopped him from leaping.

 

"He isn't going anywhere." Nic soothed the murderous vampire. "Come on, help me up." Spike bent down and lifted the larger man up into his arms.

 

"Hey! I can walk!" Nic protested. As injuries went, it wasn't a bad one at all. Spike ignored his protest as if it hadn't been uttered at all. He crooned to his thrall.

 

"I've got you, love. I've got you." Spike crooned, nuzzling the side of his neck. "Just hold on, baby."

 

Nic caught sight of the floored looks on the faces of the soldiers and flushed. "Oh, great." He muttered as Spike carried him out of the house. Riley and Graham weren't helping much, both grinning like dogs.


	53. Chapter 53

  
Author's notes: Wesley and Balthazar have an encounter. Spike tends to his injured thrall.   


* * *

Balthazar seized Wesley's arm the instant the others left the hotel, dragging him upstairs and into the vampire's room. Wesley protested, but was swung around and up onto the bed with a snarl from his master vampire. Balthazar kicked the door shut. Wes landed with a grunt and a squeak, bouncing on the mattress, as Zar followed him. Ending with the vampire bending over him, eyes cold and flashing. He loomed over Wes, who was more than a little shocked by the action coming from the usually contained and reserved vampire.

 

"I would have you learn to obey, thrall. Not speak against me, not here nor in public. You are mine. Yet, you offered me no respect, in front of others you opposed me." Balthazar growled, his hand abruptly at the smaller, slighter man's throat. Wesley reached up and grabbed at the punishing hand. The fingers felt like cool marble.

 

"I am not your chattel." Wesley hissed in return, prying at the hand encircling his throat. "I am your thrall, yes, but I am also your partner. We can't be successful if one of us has no say. I bring you additional power and support, I think that deserves some degree of appreciation. Certainly, it should not give you cause to speak to me like this. Let go of me!" Wesley responded hotly. Digging at the immovable fingers. Balthazar shook him.

 

"You asked for this, bonding. Demanded it. Now you won't live up to it. I would willingly have taken another, a more obedient thrall." Zar pointed out, showing him fangs, and gameface. Wesley gaped for a disbelieving instant.

 

"I beg your pardon! You wanted this every bit as much as I. *You* sulked and pouted when Angel forbade us to have any contact. Don't try to deny that." He spat back, squirming, fighting harder to get free. The dark vampire moved up and straddled his thrall, leaning down, hissing.

 

"I sulked and pouted? No. I *obeyed* my master. You *say* you want this? Then why do you start immediately with your defiance and protestations? Why do you not accept your role, human? Why do you behave as if it is your intent to prevent me from gaining power? If you want this...then you should obey." Balthazar hissed, low and chilled. His thumb moved to caress over the vulnerable bump of Wesley's Adam's apple, the implication not lost on Wesley.

 

Wesley tried to shift the weight of the other off of himself. And Balthazar leaned down, even closer, his free hand traveling down Wes's body, not stopping until it reached the man's groin, taking a handful of his genitals through his trousers. Squeezing below, making his thrall gasp, and squeezing above, cutting off his wind for a breathless, dizzying instant.

 

Wesley was left gasping shaking, and incredibly hard. Balthazar leaned in, licking at his exposed throat. He made short work of the zipper, and thrust a cool hand into his thrall's pants. Wesley moaned. He could not deny he was pantingly aroused. All the vampire had to do was look at him and he was well on his way to being aroused. Being touched...well, that was faster. More intense.

 

His body and his hormones were in control now. He went with the flow after a last, feeble effort at conversation, in which he made no sense, filled with moans, and begging. All he wanted was the coll breath of the vampire on his skin, the knowledgeable hands, the sharp penetration of fangs, and the duller, thicker deeper penetration of other things.

 

Balthazar hovered over him, releasing his grip on Wesley's neck long enough to tear the Englishman's clothing from him. Then he was back, body pressing in tight, his hand fondling, sliding, masturbating his thrall with long, skilled strokes. And Wesley unable to do more than respond to the stimulus. Lifting his hips into the touch. Head dropping back, neck exposed in an long, sweet line of offering to his vampire master.

 

"This is how I like you." The vampire said, voice like dark candy, sweet and rich and a little frightening. "Writhing under me." He took the torn pants off all the way, spreading Wesley's legs wide, running his finger's between the man's legs. So hot. So good. waiting to receive him, his lust, his release, his blood. Wesley moaned, arching into the touch. Balthazar bent down and licked his groin, lingering over the strong pulse there. Feeling the blood surge through the pale skin, pushing itself against his mouth as if begging to be fed from, under just a tiny fraction of soft skin, so easily punctured.

 

Well, Zar was only a vampire. Not a saint. He fed. Letting his fangs slip without resistance into the great artery, with exquisite slowness, feeling the powerful rush of blood fill his mouth. The thrall's legs were over his shoulders. Heels digging into his upper back. Wesley crying out his ecstasy as each pull, each mouthful drawn from him thrilled along his primed nerves.

 

The hot, throbbing length of Wesley's erection pressed to Balthazar's face as he fed. The noises..moaning and crying out, hands grappling with his hair, trying to force his face tighter to the man's flesh. Balthazar Bayne drank. Drank the gloriously powerful blood from the veins of his thrall. He wanted more. To empty the vessel of it's elixir, to sate the hanger racing through his body. The greedy lust for more and more.

 

Then he had to stop. Within an inch of taking too much from his thrall. Of killing off the font of such delectable blood and hot life that filled his belly. He reluctantly licked the wounds closed. Enjoying the lassitude followed by a slowly growing warmth suffusing his body as he rose up. Wesley was still murmuring incoherently. Spread out on the bed like wanton thing. Balthazar smiled. Lust. A perfect look for a thrall. Open, willing. Ready to serve. He let his fingers wander back between the man's legs, finding the pucker without difficulty. Tight. Hot. He looked around the room.

 

Nothing in view to aid the penetration. He shrugged. There were ways around that. He ran a sharp nail over the head of his own penis, the sharp sting of the pain, welcome. Blood welling up immediately, dark crimson, thick and rich.

 

"Come, thrall. You want my blood. I am offering it to you." Balthazar lay back, his erection standing up high and proud, the tip well and thoroughly bloodied. "Come little beast. Taste what you want from me. Feed."

 

Wesley moved carefully, his limbs weak, trembling, but the scent of the master's blood was not possible to ignore. He had to reach it. He crawled forward. Up the long legs of the vampire. Accommodatingly opened for him, the handsome face, cool, yet radiating a haughty satisfaction as Wesley pulled himself up, mouth seeking, mewling, until he reached the source of the scent, of the blood. Balthazar gripped a handful of hair and held his thrall away from his goal.

 

"This is what I need from you." Zar said. "This is what you give to me." And he let Wesley's tongue lap over the welling blood. Wesley let out a groan of longing. Struggling to get to the dripping erection. He at last engulfed it entirely in his mouth, sucking, his hands digging hard into the slender hips of his master.

 

Balthazar closed his eyes, reveling in the service his thrall was giving him. Stroking the short, slightly curling hair at the back of the human's neck. His thrall. Suckling him. Ahhhh. Perfect.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike ran out of the boarded up building, and out into the front yard, not even noticing when his hair started smoking. Graham yelled at him, tearing his own shirt off, and throwing it over the vampire's head as Riley tackled Spike, then helped drag the vampire back into the safety of the shadows.

 

"Spike!" Graham shouted as they held him, forcing himself not to automatically defend himself from the snarling vampire in gameface. "Stop! If you go outside, into the full sun, you are going to burn. And if you are holding Nic, he is going to burn, too."

 

Graham even as he struggled with the blond vamp was keeping an eye on the prisoners. But he needn't have worried, they were stunned and staring. Forgetting to try and escape in favor of watching the unfolding spectacle. Damn Walsh for sending out these green recruits. They were nothing more than untried boys. It was not fair. They weren't prepared.

 

"Spike!" Riley shouted into the struggling vampire's ear. "You are going to hurt Nic!" Spike was beyond listening. He snarled threateningly, clutching Nic to him, ready to fight in order to get his injured thrall to a place of perceived safety. Graham and Riley clung to his arms fighting to prevent him running back out into the sun and across the street to the hotel.

 

"Spike! I am fine! It isn't that bad. I am fine. Put me down. I can walk. Spike!" Nic joined in the fray, he met the worried blue and grey eyes of the men trying to calm his vampire. He sighed. The cuffed Initiative soldiers were watching open mouthed, too fascinated, captivated to try to escape apparently.Nic cleared his throat. He'd sworn to himself he wasn't going to say this out loud, and in public ever. But It looked like he had no choice. He was very mmuch opposed to being burned to a crisp when Spike burst into sun-induced flames.

 

"Master." He whispered, cupping Spike's face in his palms. "Master, I am fine. Please. I can stand, Master. Let me down. I am safe. You have kept me safe." He crooned lovingly in Spike's ear, but he was still loud enough to be overheard by the others in the room.

 

"Jesus, Yee, that is fucking sick. He's a vampire, fer ghod's sake." Sam said from his spot on the floor, back up against the wall, hands cuffed behind him. His young, innocent looking face was wary, slightly ill. Nic glared at him. Nic's face was as red as it had been when his mom almost caught him in his room when he was fourteen, with a stack of girlie magazines he was putting to good use. He felt just as humiliated. Well, almost.

 

Nic's crooning and petting finally got through to the platinum haired demon. Spike stopped fighting. He looked around, at Nic, at the open front door, at Riley and Graham and at the three, cuffed soldiers sitting on the floor. He shook his head as if to clear it. He bared his fangs, enjoying how the men cringed back against the wall, faces going pale, expressions shifting from stunned to terrified.

 

He took a breath, squeezed Nic until his adored thrall groaned with the force of it, then Spike shook off the hands on his arms, squaring his shoulders and sending a threatening stare out across the room. Only Graham met his eyes.

 

"That's enough of that. I'm fine. Thanks." Spike almost choked on the last word. He nuzzled his face into Nic's neck. The wonderful scent of the man filled him with heady relief. He could get lost in that smell. But he smelled the blood, too. Blood let not by himself, not by his careful fangs, but by another who had dared assault his thrall. He growled into Nic's neck, fighting to keep from tearing the captured soldiers into little bits. He wanted to undress Nic now, examine every square inch of skin to make sure he would be OK. That he had no other wounds. But first, he had to get him somewhere safe. Suppressing the urge to shred and maim, Spike went for home.

 

"Are you in pain, love?" Spike asked as he headed for the sewers. He would get Nic back to their rooms and he could look him over thorughly then. He sped through the building and dropped lightly down through the grate. The journey to the hotel took only moments. Nic lay still in the sheltering arms, flabbergasted at the speed Spike was capable of. Sure he'd fought vamps, but none of them had been this fast, he was certain of it. Almost before he could blink, they were traveling up the stairs, voices calling out after them. Feet stomped up the stairs, in pursuit.

 

Spike lay Nic on the bed. Oz hurried into the room, going to their side at once, putting a gentle hand on Spike's arm, speaking low. His worry unmistakeable.

 

"What happened?" He asked Spike, as Angel and his thralls came into the room. Spike didn't answer Oz, he hissed at his Sire instead, and satisfied when Angel stopped just inside the door, he turned his attention back to his injured thrall. He fumbled at the wooden sliver that remained lodged in his thrall's buttock and thigh, his fingers slipping off of the smooth, sharpened tip. He growled in frustration, then, inspired, bent down, took it in his teeth and pulled it out in one harsh jerk. Nic yelped. Spike threw the dripping shard away and immediately was there, soothing his thrall. Oz slid in next to him, patting him. Trying to see just how bad it was since the vampire wasn't talking.

 

"Spike. He's bleeding. Maybe you should..." Oz began. But Spike had figured it out for himself and had fitted his mouth over the oozing bloody wound, responding instictively to the wounded thrall. He bathed it in his healing saliva to slow the bleeding. Licking it to take away the sting.

 

The pain began to decrease immediately. Not that it had been so bad, just a moderate throbbing and stinging. Now it was much less than that, and the cool, wet tongue tending his hurt was anything but unpleasant. It was...great. The bleeding was slowing, the pain was gone. And instead he felt like melting into the mattress...with Oz and Spike next to him, preferrably naked. He shifted his hips, shimmying them into the bedcoverings under him. It was arousing, to be tended to like this. He let out a sighing groan. Damn that was good. Wide lapping strokes of that magical tongue. Oh. Ghod. He was hard as a rock.

 

Gradually Nic started pressing up into the oral caress, enjoying it, every long, sweet lick of it, until he turned his head with a gusty breath of lust and need.....to find the room full of hotel residents watching Spike sucking on his damaged butt. He buried his suddenly flaming face in his bent arms.

 

"Jeez." He mumbled.


	54. Chapter 54

  
Author's notes: What to do with the soldiers. Not everyone is in agreement.  


* * *

"Actually the human mouth has quite a number of different kinds of pretty deadly bacteria. A human bite is just about the worst kind you can have, human bites get infected almost all the time, and progress rapidly from a local cellulitis, you know a little infection, to streaking of the lymphatics, uh...blood poisoning, which is very bad as far as bites go, excepting venomous kinds, snakes, spiders, some demons and the like, those can be worse. But there is Ikenella, Pasturella...." Fred frowned. Spike was ignoring her, and licking like a madman.

 

"So, licking a bite is one of the worst things you can do. Of course a vampire bite is not a human bite, and maybe they don't have bacteria in their saliva because from what I've seen vampires can heal the punctures simply by licking them." She looked up and saw all the staring eyes on her, and she blushed. "Oh, sorry. Lick away."

 

Lorne patted her thin shoulder. "That's very interesting, Fredikins. I am sure it is good to know." The large demon administered an unconscious pat to the butt of the swaying young man in the circle of his arm. Anders made no protest, blinking blearily, and leaning against Lorne for support so he would not tumble to the floor in a heap.

 

"Seeing as Nicholas is not hurt badly..." Lorne added herding his two companions towards the door, and directing his speech over one shoulder to every one who was standing behind him. "...I think we should leave and let them have a bit of privacy." No one else moved. Lorne sighed.

 

"Angel?" The Host asked, and the vampire turned towards him. Lorne inclined his head at the bed. "Uh, privacy,pumpkin? And there are more soldiers downstairs who need to be dealt with. Now's the time!"

 

Angel frowned, turning back and assessing the situation with his eyes and his nose. There wasn't much blood. Spike seemed to be handling it well on his own. Of course when he had the chance the blond was going to freak and go overboard, locking his thralls away for their safety. He knew his Childe. Spike had a protective streak a mile wide. He was obsessed. He had kept Drusilla safe for a century, despite other vampires wanting to kill the mad Seeress. That had required Spike to develop a level of paranoia that far exceeded the vampire norm.

 

"Go." Angel waved to the rest of the crowd. "Out." He met the soft, alert eyes of the wolf hovering over his Childe and Nicholas. Oz watched him, and made no move to protest his coming nearer. Angel stopped before he reached the bed. He didn't want to spook Spike. He wanted to talk to the werewolf.

 

"Oz. Nicholas will recover, he is not badly injured." Angel began, just in case the wolf had any doubts on that. Oz nodded, not speaking aloud. Spike let out a growl, but almost absentmindedly. Not an immediate and direct threat, or warning of an imminent attack.

 

"Spike tends to be...very protective." Angel lowered his voice, made it smooth, soothing, darkly comforting. "This will make it worse. You will have to keep him from completely isolating the two of you. It was an accident, not Spike's fault according to my thralls. There was nothing that could have been done to keep it from happening." Angel let his affectionate gaze wander over Spike's busy figure.

 

Oz nodded again, his hand resting on Spike's back, while he lay curled next to Nic. Nic shifted and peeked out at the standing vampire. Angel acknowledged him with a smile and put his finger to his mouth, making sure Nic knew not to speak to him. Nic kept an eye on him but didn't try to talk.

 

"This is the safest place for the three of you. And it will continue to be. My word on it. Do not let him take you from here. Or let him lock you away. Reassure him. Comfort him. Remind him of my word. Try to talk him into coming out of the room to receive our visitor's oaths when you think he is ready." Angel whispered. Oz nodded again.

 

Spike let out a slightly louder growl, this one sounding the tiniest bit like a warning. Angel raised his brows. "I'll just be going, now." He said quietly as he backed towards the hall. Then Angel left the room pulling the door closed behind him.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^

 

"The last two soldiers weren't there." Gunn was saying when Angel entered the foyer. Six young men sat on the tiles, hands behind their backs, still restrained. Balthazar, Alistair, Remus, Romulus, and Heri stood over them, looking them over with interest. Gunn, Wesley, who looked a little rumpled, Lorne and Fred stood off to one side, Anders tucked right in next to Lorne, his face on the big demon's chest. Lorne's brightly colored coat was still wrapped around him.

 

Gunn was giving a report to the rest of the group, with Graham and Riley behind him. Doyle and Xander were sitting on the circular couch while they listened to Gunn report the results of the excursion the three of them had just returned from. Xander had taken Doyle's hand in his own and was petting it. Doyle was allowing the touch.

 

"It looked like they cleared out in a hurry. I think they must have had some warning, and they are long gone. Not even three guys in one room could mess it up like that. 'Specially not military. Probably reported back to everyone's favorite Walsh by now." Doyle added to the commentary.

 

"The room smelled like panic." Xander said, as if the comment was not unusual. The sitting men were the only ones who looked at him oddly. Xander looked like a normal human, but the comment made it perfectly clear he was not.

 

Angel thought about that. In fact he smiled, thinking about how that news would affect the bitch-doctor's mood. She was probably tearing up her lab right now, looking for a way to get her revenge. He couldn't stop the feral grin from growing, his eyes flashed golden.

 

"Fine. They are gone. We have six healthy young men just sitting here waiting for us to decide what to do with them." Angel said as he made his way around to sit between Doyle and Xander. He put his hands on his knees and bent forward looking into each soldier's eyes. For their part, none of them seemed inclined to look into his.

 

"We have vampires who need thralls. And until a short time ago, no thralls to offer them." Angel smiled again, letting his gaze wander over all the young men again. To a one they shivered. "Now we do. Isn't that a coincidence?" Angel leaned back, looping an arm around Doyle's shoulders. Pulling the half demon in close, and pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

 

Doyle felt the kiss, and let himself sink into it. Getting back to work was good for him. Getting the soldiers to fall for the ruse...well he felt lighter for it. Better. Energized. He hadn't forgotten Cordy, his lovely princess, but for the first time he felt like there was a possibility he was going to get over it. Get over her. Not dream about her long dark hair, running his fingers through it when she was still asleep. He sighed. Someday. Way in the distant future. For now...Angel kissed him softly once more, on top of the first kiss. For now, Doyle could do this.

 

"Let me tell you how we are going to do this." Angel began.

 

"There is a rescue team coming for us right now." One of the men said, his dark skin gleaming with a light glow of perspiration. He was short but broad, his face plain and very determined not to let anyone see how afraid he was. By far his best features were his large, dark brown eyes. Eyes that were bight with alarm at the moment. He lifted his chin, defiantly.

 

"I want him." Heri murmured, stepping in close. He touched the dark skin reverently. "He is so dark, he smells so good, like licorice. I want you, Licorice." The vampire said to the alarmed man. He let his fingers wander, the young man shying away from the touch as much as he could. Heri grabbed his chin, held him still. Leaned in close to draw in a large sniff of the scent, eyes going hot and hooded.

 

Angel looped his free arm around Xander while he listened to the soldier, and to Heri. Xander felt good against his side. Warm, strong, muscular. And he smelled like man and beast. Male. Primal. Like sex and life. And on his other side was Doyle. Who today, Angel realized, smelled a tiny bit less sad. That idea put him in a more forgiving mood.

 

"Really? Well, my men tell me that is not how the lady we all know and love to hate operates. They tell me she will write you off. Acceptable losses." Angel discovered he'd much rather be doing something cozier, with less company than he currently had. First he had to deal with this, though. Then...cozier stuff. He shrugged. "He is yours, Heri."

 

"You are enemy soldiers. You chose to fight for my enemy. The woman responsible for all this." Angel waved his hand around. "She set this in motion. Declared war on my kind. All of them. Even those who love peace. She took my blood without asking. Manipulated my blood, gave it to three men who wanted nothing to do with it or with me. Bound me, and them unwilling. Why? Huh, let me think. Power. She wants to control me and mine. And to do it, she took a chance. Without knowing WHAT THE FUCK SHE WAS DOING!" Angel screamed the last. The soldiers all cringed back from the enraged vampire, four of them involuntarily yelling out in fear.

 

"So now...She will begin to pay for it. I will be the monster she created. And I will teach her to fear me." Angel let Xander snuggle in to lay his head on his lap, playing with the dark curls.

 

Alistair stepped closer to his king. Angel's eyes were blazing. Alistair went on his knee in front of the other vampire, bowing his head. He reached up and loosened his hair, shook it out into a cloud. "My king..." Angel watched the silky fall spread out around the tall vampire's body. It caught the light like liquid gold. Angel put out a hand, running it through the long tresses, knotting his fingers in the strands. He let out a gusty sigh. Gunn averted his eyes, closing them hard for an instant, before forcing himself to look back, to see Angel touching Alistair.

 

"No, Alistair. It is not necessary. I am in control." But he did not remove his hand from the blond vampire's hair. Instead he pulled Alistair in to rest his cheek against Angel's chest, the blond vampire's belly against Xander's forehead. Xander made a noise that was not entirely happy. Angel shushed him. He returned his attention back to the captured men.

 

"And now here you all are. Disrupting my Household. So, I think I know exactly what to do with you. You have now become spoils of war. I claim you. To do with as I like. Balthazar! Bring that one to me." Angel pointed. "Riley, what is his name?"

 

"Don't..." Riley began. He swallowed. "Please..."

 

"Graham! What is this one's name?" Angel did not respond to Riley, his voice dropped lower, became a velvet caress. The shorter thrall stepped forward, positioning himself between Angel and Riley.

 

"His name is Okamoto. Kiei Okamoto." Graham answered without hesitation. Tryiing to will Riley into silence.

 

Riley tried again. "Please, don't." He said from behind Graham. Angel lifted a hand. Riley stopped speaking.

 

"Riley. Come here to me." Angel moved Alistair gently back out of the way. The blond stood winding his hair back up and fitting the clasp in it. Gunn inched nearer to him as he moved to stand to one side.

 

Riley moved up through the ranks, reluctantly. Angel rose to his feet. "We will talk on this later. For now, sit here and be silent." Angel gave the human his seat. Then Angel turned away, going to the soldier who Balthazar had brought forward.

 

Thinner than Nicholas, squarer of face. Young, as they all were. With amber, sharply slanted, almond shaped eyes. Full lips. Black hair, razored short. And a heart hammering with fear. That tang of fear sank into Angel's senses. It was not unpleasant. He stood over the man, at least six inches taller. His hand went to the vulnerable throat as if drawn there against his will.

He felt the convulsive gulp move the tissues under his palm.

 

"Who shall you serve?" Angel dropped his hand and turned to look over the men and vampires gathered in the foyer. He strode over to the five men still on the floor. Eying each. "So many choices."

 

"Romulus. Remus. These two for you I think." Angel pointed at two men who looked like they were about to faint. "Come take them."

 

Riley was standing. "Angel you can't...." Angel rounded on him. His gaze hot. Then he waited, while Riley glared up at him. Too kind, this one. He was well aware of Graham trying to manuever himself nearer to his friend. Angel shot out his arm, catching Graham who immediately went quiet and still against his master's body.

 

"I can't what, My Own? What is it that you forbid me to do?" Angel asked as he stroked Graham.

 

"They are men. Humans. You can't just give them away like that." Riley said. His tone was pleading. The defiance bleeding out of it. His attention was on Angel's hands where they touched Graham.

 

"Yes. I can. I have. And I will do it again. Take the rest somewhere and make sure they are fed and secured. Guard them." The king of LA said to his people behind him. Unlike his lovely thrall, they obeyed him at once. Angel stopped in front of Riley. He laid a hand over the man's heart, feeling the steady, welcome beat, just a little quicker than normal. Graham was breathing evenly, his heart rate not raised at all. Calm. Angel purred into the short, brown, blond hair.

 

"Now is not the time." Xander spoke up, coming to press up against Riley from behind. He wrapped his arms around his fellow thrall. Riley flinched, then suppressed the urge to get free, standing quietly in the werehyena's arms.

 

"It is happening now. If I don't say something now, it will be too late." Riley said, hardly above a whisper.

 

"For what?" Angel asked him. "For the soldiers to be freed, so they can fight against us again?"

 

"They are our enemies. They chose the wrong side." Xander said, as Graham and Angel neared.

 

"Riley and I know them." Graham said by way of an explanation, not a defense. Angel nodded.

 

"That is always difficult. But it is wrong, Riley. And you know why. So he speaks up in front of the enemy. Showing that we do not have a united front. That there is dissension to be exploited." Angel was still standing before Riley, looking into the blue eyes. He reached out and slid his fingers across Riley's face.

 

"I had to say something." Riley told him, raising his eyes.

 

"No. You did not. But you chose to." Angel stroked the smooth shaven cheek. "You are a soldier yourself, Riley Finn. How do you think it looked to those men when you spoke out against me? If they think there is a chance they might win a battle with us, do you think they will fight? If they think some here will hesitate? It will encourage them to fight. And if they fight they will be hurt, perhaps killed."

 

Riley hung his head. "I didn't speak against you. I disagreed with your order, not with you. I don't want this to happen to them." He was realizing what he'd refused to see. His public objection was worse than staying silent.

 

"You don't want them to be thralls like you are." Angel said. "Too late. They will be. They fought for a master who would see everyone in this hotel dead. Or in one of her cells to be experimented on. They were going to take my Childe. They only waited for her word, and an opportunity."

 

"No." The tall former Initiative soldier replied. "I don't want them to be thralls." He dropped his gaze back to the floor.

 

"Would you like them to kill us, then? You, Graham, Xander, me?" Angel pushed. Riley shook his head.

 

"I can understand that you don't want them to be hurt. But we have a new reality we are forced to live with. To deal with, Riley." Angel said. "She has declared war. She must be stopped. She is going to keep creating masters and thralls, without regard to the chaos that will follow. They fought on her side. They lost. They are ours now. To do with as we must."

 

"Yes. I know." Riley said, his tone sad, resigned. Angel pulled him into an embrace, hugging him and Graham together.

 

"I will have to come down even harder on them now. Before I could have gotten away with being gentler. Now I have to make it very clear who is in charge." Angel said.

 

"Just...let them go." Riley asked. Knowing even as the words left his mouth that they were wrong.

 

"Riley." Angel sighed. "I can't do that."

 

"I know." Riley hung his head, accepting the truth as he accepted the embrace. Graham's arms joined the vampire's around his friend. Riley was such a gentle soul. How he'd become a soldier..Graham never understood. He was so ready to be the good man, the man who stands up to wrong. But that was not possible to be good and forgiving in the fight they found themselves embroiled within.

 

Xander held the tall soldier from behind, Angel and Graham from the front. Doyle looked at them standing there. They looked like they belonged together. He stood, feeling the loneliness wash over him. He was on the outside, again. He turned to leave.

 

Xander's arm shot out and snagged the back of his shirt. Dragging him into the knot of bodies. Doyle squeaked as he was pressed into the mass of the hug. Held. Welcomed.


	55. Chapter 55

  
Author's notes: Angel and Alistair. Spike and Nic. Gunn and Alistair.   


* * *

Angel entered the room. Alistair stood up from his seat in one of the armchairs, gaining his feet to greet his king. He had been waiting for Gunn, so they could finally speak, and so Gunn could tell him what decisions had been made. Now, though, Angel had found him instead.

 

"Is something wrong, my king? Do you need me?" Alistair asked. Angel shook his head.

 

"What have you and Gunn decided? I have noticed you are often together now." Angel asked without preamble, as he approached the other vampire. His hands itched to feel that long, glorious hair on his skin once more. It was like a soothing balm to him to have it on him, flowing like water over his flesh.

 

"I do not know." Alistair answered. His green eyes meeting those of his king. "We have not spoken of it fully. I had hoped...I thought you were he coming in so we might talk." He shook his head. "I do not know his position, my king. He has not told me. He said he wanted for us to talk. That is all."

 

"Where is he?" Angel asked. "I want this to be settled soon. I want you to take one of the soldiers to thrall. For you to have two thralls. You are a warrior for centuries. Whichever one comes to you, he will learn much, and be better for it. We need fighters who truly know how to fight, we need more defense. I want you to have more than one thrall, whatever is decided between Gunn and yourself. I need you strong, powerful, Alistair, and soon. I would say there are four left to chose from...but Lorne seems to have bespelled his little soldier, and I don't think he wants to give him up."

 

"Anders." Alistair nodded. "I think the demon is attached to that one. He is like one drugged, the soldier. Lorne will want to keep him."

 

"So. Look over the others, chose one who appeals to you. And if Gunn will agree, then only one. If not...then take two. I want you formidable, my second." Angel said, looking over the other man with sharp eyes. Cool and collected, his face serene, beautiful. A Raphaelite angel, a Botticelli, so beautiful. So...otherworldly in a way. What some might call fey. Angel felt called to this one. As if they were connected beyond being master and vampire.

 

"Yes, my king. Whom do you wish for me to claim? Do you have a preference?" Alistair agreed, though he felt a pang in his chest, as if his unbeating heart hurt him, just for an instant. Gunn. He thought. Gunn was the one he had hoped to stand shoulder to shoulder with. To raise swords together. Or...axe and sword side by side. He missed Tristan. Having a brother warrior beside him for these past and coming battles. Missed him so very much. Alistair dropped his gaze as the pain welled through him.

 

"What is it?" Angel whispered, not missing the agony that flashed in the pale, spring green eyes before Alistair looked away from him, once again appearing like he was carved from magical marble, exquisite and cool. Untouched. So self contained.

 

"Gunn." Alistair said. One word. And Angel understood. He reached up, finding the clasp in the blond vampire's hair. He tugged it free, set it on the table top next to them. His hands sank into the wonderful, thick hair. So alive, so rich, full, and wondrous. Angel pulled Alistair close, burying his face in all that wealth of fragrant hair.

 

"I am not a lover of men." Angel said. "But I can give you this if you have need of it." He inclined his head, and Alistair accepted the cool kiss on his forehead, bowing his head. He valued the touch of his king. The caring. So much better than other kings he had known. Kings not forgotten, but put away from his mind.

 

Chaste and pure. Angel closed his eyes. So clear and light, none of the dark need rising, none of the overwhelming want and desire. Peace. He pulled away, strangely not wanting to give up the sweet and innocent embrace. Their eyes met. And Angel felt the rise of something else, Alistair's face went still, the the feeling faded away as if it had never been.

 

"It is not...what I need, my king. But if you ask it, I will serve." Alistair said, and nothing in his eyes, nor his face showed he would do it with anything but true devotion. Angel shook his head.

 

"I think...." Angel began. The need was slow. Not screamingly urgent. The silk of Alistair's hair flowed over his arms, like an intentional caress, more than ample to satisfy his hunger, and the eyes that met his were soft, tender, so unlike the quiet strength of the man. Angel leaned in, pressed their foreheads together. "I think...you are very, very old, Alistair. You are, aren't you? You are almost warm."

 

The other nodded against the face of his king. "I am old. Everyone feels the call of the old, the ancient, though I am not quite that."

 

Angel let his hand stroke down the broad chest, feel the thick muscle under his hand. "And I think you do not want this to be changed, between us."

 

"I will serve my king as my king wills it. But I prefer not to call the beast if it is not necessary. I do not wish it to rule me." Alistair answered, "I do not want sex from you. I would take this." He ran his own hand up Angel's neck to cup the back of his ruler's head. "I would have your blood and your touch, Angelus dei, for they are like no other to me. I feel you. I feel the life returning to you. The world is reclaiming you. Your body sings with it. Yet you are still vampire. Still my master. Still worthy of my devotion. I am yours. I live for you. If you wish, I will lie under you. You have only to speak your need, and I will fill it."

 

Angel drew back. "I have only the need to see you with thralls and cared for. To see you strong, Alistair, and at my side in this new Court. I never would have chosen this way, to live, to rule. I would have simply continued helping those who had no one else to help them. I never wanted to be cruel and ruthless, not ever again. But...this is what I must be, again." He felt Alistair's arms circle around his waist. They leaned into each other, close and comforting.

 

Outside the door, unobserved, Xander crouched, a low growling whine in his throat. A sound both afraid, jealous and oddly pleased.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Nic woke with a sense of absolute panic and urgency. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt an urge, almost impossible not to obey, an urge to run, to flee. He sat up, panting, barely catching the scream in his throat. His skin ran with sour sweat, sharp with fear, terror. Not for himself, but for another. How could he have forgotten?

 

Spike, who had been dozing peacefully at his side, bolted upright in the same instant he did, reaching for his sweating, gasping thrall, looking around the room for any threat as he surrounded Nic with his arms, shielding him with his body from unknown threats.

 

"What? What is it?" Spike asked, still searching for an attack. Oz stirred, mumbling sleepily.

 

"Sam!" Nic cried out, clutching at Spike's bared shoulders, digging in, the vampire winced, in reaction to the small pains, smelling the faint whiff of blood as Nic's nails tore at his skin. "Please, Spike! I didn't know she would send him, any of them. Please don't let one of the others take him."

 

"Shhhh." Spike crooned relaxing gradually as he came to realize there was no threat inside the locked room, but fear from inside his thrall.

 

Oz sat up behind Spike, dark eyes heavy with just waking, looking incredibly young and warm, automatically reaching out and touching his two bedmates, leaning onto Spike's back, reaching for Nic with his careful, comforting hands. Nic shuddered, the fear of his dream still with him. He moaned with the idea that he might not be able to save his friend.

 

"What is wrong? Tell me. I will fix it, love." Spike said, holding his thrall tightly. Oz stroking them both, blinking his eyes to alertness. The blanket fell off of his shoulders and he scooted closer, moving around Spike so he could touch both of them, lean against them.

 

"Sam!" Nic exclaimed. And Spike had to wrack his brains to discover why the name sounded so familiar. He'd heard it so recently....

 

"Who?" Oz asked.

 

"The bloke from the house across the way? The soldier? That the Sam you are going on about?" Spike asked Nic. Nic nodded. Spike recalled the man. Short, wide body, dark blond-brown curly hair, too dark blue eyes, spare face, thin, but strongly featured, good chin. A face that would have fit well on a recruiting poster. Not so beautiful as Graham's face, which Spike still marveled over, but not so babyfaced as was Riley's.

 

"Angel! Remember? He said he'd make them thralls!" Nic squeezed Spike's shoulders tighter. Actually shaking the vampire in his agitation. "But Sam! He...I know him, he's one of my best friends. I don't want..." He swallowed hard. I don't want to think about that happening to him." His meaning was clear. He didn't want to think about his friend being raped by one of the other vampires in the Hyperion. If he were to put it into words...Zar frightened him the most. But aside from Spike...Nic feared all of the vampires. He did not trust any of them. Not Alistair, who was so calm, nor the strangers from Europe, and not even Angel who had given him protection along with his blood.

 

"That's OK, love." Spike soothed, petting him. "I can fix that for you. Won't take but a minute." He patted Nic before standing and reaching for his black jeans. He would simply ask his Sire to give the young soldier to him. He didn't have to take him as a thrall, he could just say this Sam was under his protection.

 

"What will you do?' Asked Oz who was already up out of bed and dressing.

 

"You stay here with Nic." Spike said, the anxiety rising in him at the thought of either of his precious thralls coming out of this room, of not being secured behind the heavy door.

 

"No, Spike. We need to come with you." Oz said in return, his gentle voice firm.

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Gunn was finally able to get away from the soldiers. Romulus and Remus, the two European twins, and vampires to boot, had taken over the guard duty for Gunn and Alistair. They had been eager to observe their promised thralls. Though, until Angel actually bound them together, nothing was set. Alistair had gone on ahead, after Gunn confirmed he wanted to meet and to talk.

 

But only after he ate something. His stomach was growling regularly, telling him he had ignored it too long. So no matter how much he wanted to talk to Alistair, Gunn ate first. He wanted his full concentration on what was said.

 

He had decided what he wanted to do. Nothing was perfect, but the deal was better than almost any he'd had before. More pros than cons, even after days of careful and deliberate thought, trying to find all the negatives he could.

 

Gunn was a realist. He knew he was prone to action, not weighing options, not thinking out problems. He was impulsive at times, but he also got the job done when it counted. He never shrank from hard work, or hard bargains, and ghod damn, he was reliable. When he gave his word, he meant it.

 

He wanted Alistair to be his. He knew that Angel was set on getting Alistair a thrall, and soon. Gunn didn't like that. He had liked that Angel's first choice had been Gunn. It warmed him, Angel's confidence in him. But, he had needed to think about the very definite down side. Well, he'd done that. Now was the time to stop acting like a scared sixteen year old virgin.

 

Gunn rounded the corner to Alistair's room and came close to stumbling over Xander who was seated on the carpet. Xander bristled a little, frowning, but that was all. The werehyena was in human form, and had a look of thoughtful contemplation on his face.

 

"Angel is in there." Xander said, when Gunn had found his balance. Gunn stopped.

 

"Why? I mean...Alistair and I planned on talking. Should I wait?" The last was more a question to himself than Xander. Which the young man seemed to understand. He shrugged instead of answering. Gunn resumed his journey to Alistair's room. The door was ajar. He tapped on it and then went in.

 

Angel was resting a hand on Alistair's arm. Gunn blinked, because he saw Alistair was also touching Angel's hand with his own. The two vampires looked so serious, Gunn faltered to a stop, wondering if he should have waited after all. But Angel dropped his hand and stepped away.

 

"Do you want me to stay?" He asked. Alistiar shook his head.

 

"No, my king. Gunn and I have much to talk over. It is best we do so alone." Alsitair said, his full attention beginning to transfer away from Angel and to the young, dark skinned warrior.

 

Gunn swallowed when the grren eyes met his, the finely made face smiling it's faint smile in welcome. This was it, he thought.

 

This was *it*.


	56. Chapter 56

  
Author's notes: Gunn makes a decision. Spike serches for Angel.  


* * *

Gunn waited until Angel left before he stepped forward pausing by a chair. He let himself look at the blond vampire who's hair was loose, cascading around his body in long smooth waves all the way to his hips. Alistair let him look, let him have a minute to see the shine of the golden hair, the heft of it, and wonder, oddly, if it would be any different from a woman's hair when he ran his fingers through it. Gunn knew that he would touch it, it was simply a question of when. And what he'd be thinking when he did. If he'd be too freaked to enjoy it. It seemed so...intimate.

 

After the minute he let Gunn look, the vampire turned and reached for the silver metal clip laying on top of the table. Gunn had a moment to wonder at that, and at why Alistair's hair was down at all while Angel was in the room. Angel, who several times Gunn had witnessed, had wanted to touch, and had touched all that hair. And Gunn realized that was probably his answer right there, if he wanted to admit it.

 

Alistair was in the midst of putting it all back up, fastening it with the silver clip. For one second as Gunn watched the ethereal beauty he asked himself if he was insane. If he knew what the hell he was doing, planning to bind himself here, to remove himself from everything he had known, the familiar if very different lifestyle he had led, and in doing so, lose one of the greatest pleasures in life. The touch of women. Sex with women. No faces came to mind now, no women waiting in the wings. But he knew they'd be there, tempting him maybe next week, next month, maybe tomorrow. And he, for the first time, would have to shake his head, ignore the siren call of soft flesh, warm curves, pockets of fragrant heat.

 

Here he was, contemplating a life joined to a vampire. It was the last thing he would have predicted for himself. An irretrievable decision once made. And not one that was in harmony with the way he'd lived his life so far. He had killed his adored sister when she became a vampire rather than join her in the unlife. He had killed her because she was a vampire, and evil. All vampires were evil, or so he thought then. He had never questioned that painful decision. That day he had known he was doing what was right.

 

Right about that time he'd met Angel. And started to figure out not all demons were bad, and not all vampires were evil. That was a truth he hated to discover. No all the things he'd hunted down and killed were evil. The death of his sister at his own hand was a horrible irony considering where he stood, and what he intended for his future to be. Gunn could not help but wonder what made the difference. Why kill his sister, but cleave himself to Alistair? Would he have killed Alana if he'd met Angel sooner? Was it really necessary?

 

Alistair waited patiently as his guest and friend sat. Then he took his own seat. Thoughts were flying across Gunn's face as rapidly as they could arise. Some appeared to be painful ones. As much as the vampire wanted to know what those thoughts were, he gave the human fighter the time he needed to sort them out. Alistair knew none of this was easy on the dark warrior. And he was only going to make it worse with his next words. Still, Gunn had a right to know. He took a breath and Gunn looked up at him, his face becoming less distracted, more focused on the here and now. Alistair began the conversation.

 

"Angel came to me with news. I think you need to hear what he said before we talk." Alistair said, as Gunn settled himself, axe leaning against the table's edge. There was no point in not being blunt, telling him outright. Couching what he had to say in confusion or minimizing it so to encourage Gunn to bind to him was not honorable. If Gunn came to him, it would be with open eyes, honesty between them. Not deceit. Though with Angel's new dictum, Alistair thought the chances of that were slim. By obeying his king, Alistair believed he was losing his chance with the warrior who called to his deepest being.

 

"He has asked that I take two thralls, not one. I am sure you will want to think on this new development. I am willing to give you as much time as I am able. But I do not know how long that will be. Angel is concerned that time is short. He would see me settled and strong at his side when trouble comes to us here." Alistair watched for any change in the young man's expression that would give him a clue, help him to understand how Gunn felt hearing it. He saw shock.

 

Gunn was floored. He hadn't even considered the possibility of a second thrall. Of course it did make sense. But it was very unwelcome news. Alistair and someone else. Not his. Even if he agreed. And would it stop at one. What if Angel decided on three, or four in the future. Gunn would have no say. He knew that well enough. He had influence with Alistair and with Angel, but on these kinds of things, he couldn't say anything that would change the vampire's mind. And he understood. Power was power. It helped win fights. It was necessary.

 

"Oh, man." Gunn said shaking his head. He wasn't sure what he should say. He forced himself to think about having another man in his bed, besides Alistair. It was not a welcome thought. Nor was it appealing to think of someone else having as much right to Alistair as he was seeking to have.

 

"Damn it." Gunn said. But it wasn't as if he couldn't see Angel's point. Alistair had to be strong. And Angel would see it done, with or without Gunn. Gunn cleared his throat and, voice a little hoarse, asked, "Who? Another man?" The concept of a woman with them, as a thrall for Alistair was no better that t he idea of another man, Gunn was surprised to find. Having a woman watch him with Alistair...Gunn swallowed. No way. Bad enough to think of a man doing that. A man who would understand what they was going through.

 

"I do not know yet. Angel wishes me to chose one other if you wish to be my thrall, or if you decline, then two. I would wish it be you at my side, my brother warrior. I would have you and only you. Yet my king wills it shall not be. He has named me his second, Gunn, I can not fail him." Alistair's face was neutral, not showing much emotion. Gunn looked into his eyes. There, in the depths was disappointment, as clear a sign as any Gunn needed to know Alistair regretted this. And feared he had already lost Gunn.

 

Gunn shook his head. This was just more of the same. More of the excuses he'd been looking for, reasons to say he was not able to bind to Alistair. Reasons that would let him out of having to have sex with another man. It was as if his resolve was being tested by the Powers That Be. Would he honor the decision he had made? Would he take his new excuse and run shrieking the other way? He knew the answer to that. He was Charles Gunn. He would not run.

 

"Crap." He said. "I thought all of this out. Came here to tell you, let's get it done. I know I need to be bound to you if I want to fight. It is my life. It is all I've ever done. Fight evil. I can't not fight. No matter what the price is. I lost my sister to this fight. I've lost too many friends and allies to count. It is what I am. So I'd made up my mind to say yes." Gunn shook his head again.

 

"I am sorry." Alistair began. But Gunn cut him off with a raised hand. Alistair nodded and closed his mouth. Ghod. Beautiful mouth, Gunn thought.

 

"I went 'round and 'round about the sex thing. 'Cause that was the sticking point, you know. You say it is the least of it, but it is a pretty damn big part of it for me. I was raised very young in the church, following the teachings, then my whole family was gone, and we were on the streets. But, it isn't easy to rethink beliefs you've been taught as a child. Take sex. Homosexuality is wrong, a sin." He laughed. "I was out there, killing, fighting for the existence of human life, of my life, trying to keep my friends and people in the neighborhood alive and safe. But I still can't keep the idea that gays are committing a sin out of my head."

 

"Sex out of wedlock, sex without the goal of children each coupling...that can be a sin in the churches' teachings. I remember times when the church forbade any to ease the pain of childbirth because it was a woman's lot to suffer giving birth. I remember when to say you did not believe the priest in your village was a sin, one punishable by excommunication if you were a lord or a noble, or by death if you were a peasant. I remember a time when adulterers were stoned, or unchaste women had their heads shaved and were thrown out to starve in the desert. I remember a time when live Christians were fed to beasts." Alistair's voice was distant. "I am sorry, I did not mean to interrupt you, please go on."

 

"I decided that I was going to do it." Gunn said, acknowledging the vampire's words with a nod that showed he understood the painful point Alistair was making. He knew what Alistair was trying to tell him. That times and beliefs changed, and were not true merely because a religion, or a leader said they were. "I figured I was looking for an excuse. And I had no excuse big enough to say no. Not when it come to this. I have to fight. To fight I need to be a thrall. You need a thrall. We understand each other. It was the right thing to do, to join you."

 

It hurt Alistair to hear the past tense in Gunn's words. He bowed his head. While Angel's news had pushed Gunn over the edge, into territory he could not accept, Alistair did not blame his king. Angel was doing what any ruler had to do. He was marshaling his forces, making his people strong. Setting the foundations deep and strong for his rule. And yet. Alistair had wanted, hoped for, the stalwart Gunn by his side.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike, thralls in tow despite all he could do to try and keep them safe in his locked room, careened around the corner in the fruitless search of his Sire. The bugger was bloody hard to track down, he grumped under his breath. They'd looked just about everywhere, and Spike was beginning to think Angel wasn't in the hotel no mater what anyone said to the contrary. Fortunately now that they were doing something active in the effort to secure Sam, Nic was calmer, but Spike felt the waves of worry coming off of his thrall.

 

So far they'd found Balthazar, the irritating, superior git, with Wesley near him, leafing through books. The dark vampire had looked down his perfect nose at Oz and Nic, even as he answered Spike's questions civilly enough. That didn't stop Spike from wanting to poke him one in the nose for the implied disrespect to his thralls. He had to feel some sympathy for the uptight watcher being paired with that one. Even though it did not escape Spike's notice that Balthazar made sure to position himself between the watcher and Spike and his thralls. So, at least he was protecting the man.

 

The twin vampires Romu and Remy were standing guard over the unhappy prisoners. They had not seen Angel in some time and had no idea where he might be. Nic had looked across the room, his dark eyes meeting those of his friends, all of them, but lingering on the expressive face of his curly haired friend, Sam. Spike had debated on whether to let Nic enter that room, to talk to Sam and the other soldiers, but then he reminded himself, accidentally or not, one of those sodding bastards had shot his Nic in the ass with a damn big splinter. He dragged Nic gently out of the room muttering that they needed to find Angel and put a stop to Sam being doled out to one of the other vampires. Nic went.

 

Xander and Doyle, Graham and Riley. They hadn't been much help, lounging about in the media room, watching CNN on one TV and CSI on the other. Xander was draped over all three of the other men, Graham and Riley resting nervous hands on him, Doyle petting him absently as he watched Grissom on the second TV, examining a disgustingly pale, squirming larvae. Spike had seen those things up close and personal more times than he'd want to count. He couldn't imagine why the half demon wasn't watching something else, like One Life to Live or Passions instead. Spike was surprised to note none of the thralls knew where Angel was. And they smelled truthful. Bit odd that.

 

The meddlesome small but adorable Heri, who Spike recalled from Europe with both admiration for his wicked sense of humor and annoyance for all the trouble he loved to cause, cuddled up with his own thrall, the very, very blond, pretty little Konstantine. Neither had anything to offer, Heri concentrating on cuddling the very dark skinned, new thrall Angel had granted him. He was stroking the young man, Konstantine on the other side, boxing him in. Konstantine was a troublemaker, too, as Spike recalled. Fully involved in Heri's many schemes.

 

Lorne, he ascertained was up in Fred's room, with his own pet soldier, Anders in tow, the soldier more alert now, walking on his own, and from what Spike heard, not to happy with his new lot in life. But no Angel with them. Spike growled impatiently under his breath. He was not too good at being frustrated. It irked him. Showed off his bad side.

 

"Let's go back to the soldiers." Oz said from behind Spike, moving closer to touch Spike's stiff back. "Angel is going to show up there eventually."

 

"Worth a try, love." Spike agreed, all but melting under Oz's touch. Besides he had a feeling that if Nic could see his soldier buddy, he'd be less upset with their failure to find and talk to Angel right away.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Gunn could tell the vampire was closing himself off, retreating from what he expected to be a rejection. Preparing himself. That was not Gunn's goal in taking all the time to explain his thoughts of the past few days to the other male. He frowned. All this damned talking, and he hadn't told Alistair the most important thing yet. Talking was overrated at times. At least too much of it was.

 

"Alistair?" Gunn called, leaning forward, reaching out to rest his hand on the vampire's wrist. Alistair went even quieter at the contact, if that was possible, Gunn saw. No more breathing. Not a single breath of air. He had to fix this, and fix it now. He licked his suddenly dry lips.

 

"It isn't what you think. I haven't said no. I am not going to say no. That is not what I am doing. I am telling you what I went through to make up my mind. Crap, I am no good at this shit." He grumbled under his own breath. "I thought about all of this, about all the reasons I should say no. All the things I would have to do and change to be your thrall. And I decided."

 

Alistair was looking at him, silent and intent. He face was losing it's neutrality, it's remoteness. No longer looking like a perfectly carved statue of a pious, eternally suffering saint. Life was reanimating it. Alistair's eyes sparkling, faintly at first as he began to comprehend, then dazzling. Gunn almost gasped.

 

"My mind is made up. I am going to do it. No way I can make any other decision. This is what works best for both of us. Yes, I will be your thrall. Even if you have to have someone else, too. I don't like sharing you, but I know why I have to." Gunn barreled on, making sure the important things got said.

 

Alistair was stunned for the first time in many many years. He had been so sure Gunn was trying to let him down easy. Now to hear the words Gunn just uttered.... That essentially, yes, the man was willing to be his thrall. He let himself smile, sending a prayer heavenward.

 

"Praise Ghod." The golden vampire whispered, his eyes regaining their glow. He extended his hand, clasping Gunn's arm in turn. "Thank you for this. There is no other who will come before you. You will be the first among my thralls, no matter their number." His face shone. Gunn had to swallow, hard.


	57. Chapter 57

  
Author's notes: Alistair and Gunn. A visit. Ghosts. ** hope this one is OK, I am well medicated...all prescribed and necessary I assure you...nothing recreational!**  


* * *

"So, we gonna get this done?" Gunn asked after clearing his throat a few times. "Or do we need to wait for Angel? You need his help?"

 

Alistair shook his head. "I do not need Angel in order to take you as my thrall." His voice was deeper than it's normal tenor. Gunn felt it like a friendly hand smoothing over his skin.

 

"Do we need to have a...a witness or something?" Gunn asked his next question while they stood facing each other, eyes locked, holding, and though it was intense enough to send a jolt down his nerves, it was also comfortable. Right. Familiar. The way it should be. Gunn drew in a big breath.

 

"No. We need no witnesses. Any vampire will be able to sense what has been done." Alistair said his voice very quiet, soothing, peaceful. Gunn nodded, feeling the peace touch him, even across the space between them. They were not touching yet. But it felt as if they were.

 

"OK." Gunn said, feeling more solid the longer they shared that look. "What do you want me to do?"

 

Alistair held out his hand, and Gunn took it, his hesitation long past. Their hands were of a size, both large, square, long fingered, strong. The palms calloused, a little rough. He was drawn forward, over to the made bed. He lay on it, and Alistair followed him. Now this was weird. Gunn could not remember being on a bed with another man, or boy, not in his entire life. It wasn't until the last few years he'd even had women in his bed. Most of his sexual experience had taken place in the front seat of his truck or the back seat of a car before then. The wierdest part...he wasn't uncomfortable to lay there with Alistair an inch or two away. he wasn't uncomfortable to feel the vampire who was now *his*, against his body.

 

Alistair moved slowly, taking care not to spook the other man, or to trigger his instinct to respond to a threat with physical violence. Gunn was relaxed as he lay on one side facing the pale vampire. The lighting was already low in the room, and he was happy about that, it let him convince himself his flush of excitement was not so obvious. He waited until Alistair lifted his hand to his mouth, asking for a final time, this time with his eyes, if this was Gunn's choice. Gunn nodded.

 

"Yes." He said. And Alistair asked no more.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel was cornered the minute he walked into the Hyperion through the huge, glass front doors. He saw Spike's head pop up over the rail's edge way up high. And Balthazar's lower down. The dark vampire was quiet, watching, face impassive, haughty, while Spike was anything but, moving immediately, heading for Angel, arms waving, jaw jacking.

 

"Oi! Peaches! Been looking for you. Where have you been? You shouldn't run off without leaving word. I need to talk to you." And Spike disappeared from view, the sound of hurrying feet taking the place of his Childe's face. Many feet, like say....Spike and two anxious thralls? Angel sighed. What now, he wondered indulgently. He certainly hadn't been gone all that long. Two hours at the most.

 

He hadn't planned on it. Leaving that is, going out, but it felt good playing hooky, getting away for a short time from the hotel. And there was the underlying doubt he wanted to address, could he be away from his thralls and cope? He'd doubts on that score, too. He admitted that they owned him every bit as much as he owned them, though in a slightly different way. Though he had no intention of letting them know that. So, he'd snuck out. And a good thing, too.

 

The fates were operating here, that much was clear. Otherwise why should he have met the man who he hadn't seen in over a year, on the one day he was back in LA to tie up the last of his loose ends before he left for good? Angel saw him, and immediately knew. He invited him back, they had walked, not taken a cab, Angel answering all of the questions that poured out in a controlled, steady stream. OK, short, concise answers, not long, revealing diatribes, but he was answering. The longer they talked, the more the vampire thought the PTB had intervened, again.

 

Angel continued in into the lobby, making it about three steps before Xander was there, coming out of the kitchen, chewing on a massive roast beef sandwich, each bite requiring he stretch his jaws to the limit, followed by Graham and Riley also chowing down on an assortment of sandwiches, jaws working eagerly. Doyle was wiping his hands on a napkin, his appetite nothing compared to that of the thralls, more quickly appeased. Angel felt the usual proprietary pride well in his chest. It always did when he saw his men eating. Or sleeping. Or talking. Or....

 

Xander sniffed at the air, his eyes sharpening as the scent hit him. A stranger. Behind Angel. Xander began to drift a bit off to one side in an effort to get a look at who it was, chewing furiously in his rising excitement, teeth snapping and grinding against each other. His human nose twitched. He did not recognize the scent. Or at least...not all of it. The person smelled like his master, like Angel. Angel had been close enough to touch who ever it was. The scents were mingled. Not apart. His master had *held* the man. Xander's brows lowered, he scowled.

 

Angel had no intention of letting his most unpredictable thrall up close and personal with his guest, not so soon. He blocked Xander's move smoothly. Xander merely switched directions in an attempt to glide around the other side, which Angel countered just as well. Xander shuffled forward.

 

"Xander." Angel said. "You will meet him soon enough. Let me get him settled upstairs. Then they rest of you can come meet him. For now, back off."

 

Xander acted as if he hadn't heard what his master said. He did not want Angel alone in a room upstairs with the man. He forgot his half eaten sandwich, it dangled down from his hand, dripping mayo and lettuce to the floor. A tiny smear of mustard graced a cheek, near the corner of his wide, expressive mouth. Xander pushed against the vampire with his whole body, managing to drive Angel back a step, and get his nose over the other man's shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the much smaller figure behind. Who was looking back at him, with big, dreamily beautiful, hazel eyes, with long, soft lashes around them like fine, thick lace. An easy curiosity in his eyes.

 

Xander stopped abruptly, his hair standing on end, head half over Angel's shoulder, nose twitching furiously. Angel had embraced the man. His scent was smeared all over the man, the tang of pheromones faint but present, no semen, no saliva, but touch and lots of it. And arousal.

 

Xander let out a long, low, menacing growl, freezing literally everyone in their tracks. Everyone but Angel. Xander dropped his mangled sandwich and sprang, trying to get around the vampire to the man behind him. Angel headed him off, again. Xander tried the other direction in repeat of his earlier attempts, then, when that failed he tried to go up over the top of the vampire. His leap would have carried him over with room to spare, and on top of his target with ease, but strong hands prevented it, grabbing his hips, holding him.

 

Spike halted at the top of the last stair case, his arms going out to block both his thralls when he saw Xander and Angel tussling. "Stay here." He ordered his thralls before flying down the remainder of the stairs.

 

"Angel! Xander? What the *fuck* are you two doing?" He looked at the man who had been behind Angel. Short, light brown hair, large hazel eyes. Nice eyes. Nice lips. Not bad at all. Spike wondered just who he was. He had really *lovely* eyes.

 

"Spike." Angel said through clenched teeth, struggling to hold the wriggling and determined Xander. "No one touches him. Understand?"

 

"Sure, Sire. Got it in one." Spike had. No one touched, bit, ate, folded, or mutilated the git. That included Angel's thralls. Yeah. He got that. He went to stand between the man and the rest of the denizens of the hotel. The man gave him a long considering look. Far too at ease in the situation to be a stranger to vamps and demons. Spike returned the gaze, his blue eyes more than curious. Seemed awfully calm for a man who had a fight going on not two meters in front of him. Hands in his pockets, which was just plain foolish, messed with your balance when you did that.

 

Spike was taken by surprise to hear the second, sweeter growl coming for the stair. He looked away from the new guest to see Oz heading for him, brows lowered forbiddingly. Nic not far behind, grabbing at Oz's shirt in a vain attempt to slow him down.

 

Keeping a jaundiced eye on Angel and Xander Spike held out a hand to the man. Good solid grip, but definitely human, Spike decided, no super powers hidden somewhere here.

 

"Hello. Name's Spike." They shook hands. Then Spike pulled the man behind him. "Best stay behind me." He said.

 

"Lindsey. Lindsey MacDonald." The short man supplied, breaths feathering along Spike's spine, upwards and down.

 

"He smells like you." Xander complained. "You touched him." He accused, teeth snapping shut a hair's breadth from Angel's neck.

 

Angel sighed. He loved Xander like this. Primal. Possessive. Glorious. But he also needed Xander to learn control, and when to be fiercely protective, and when to wait for more information. They circled each other, Xander trying to maneuver things so he'd have a straight line to Spike and to the stranger. Angel out flanking him with the skills of two centuries of hand to hand combat and street fighting. Oz showed up, snarling low in his chest, Nic twined around him doing his level best to pin him.

 

"What is wrong with you?" Nic whispered, but everyone seemed to hear him.

 

"Full moon coming." Xander said, irritably, letting Angel hold him, still glaring at the interloper. "He doesn't like a stanger in his territory." It was clear Xander was sharing those sentiments. Angel petted him, long, firm strokes down his back. He squirmed, testing the hold a bit.

 

Graham and Riley exchanged a look. Then they moved forward in unison. They converged on the mildly struggling pair.

 

"Xander!" Graham murmured from one side.

 

"Xander!" Riley called from the other. Shamelessly rubbing against the werehyena and the vampire holding him.

 

"Oooooo, Xan-pet, they've got your number!" Spike muttered, grinning as the werehuman fought the instinct to turn and take what he so clearly thought was his as much as Angel's. Figured he'd be like this, possesed of the alpha bitch hyena spirit, Spike smirked. Ready to claim and possess and rut if allowed to.

 

Angel took advantage of the momentary distraction and threw his arms around his thralls. Graham and Riley right behind him, also smothering Xander in their embraces.

 

"Why is he here?" Xander growled.

 

"Because I brought him here. This is our Court, not your lair, Xander." Angel reminded his thrall.

 

"I wasn't going to hurt him," Xander said sulkily. "Much." He added in a whisper, his eyes flashing yellow before the rich, chocolate brown color returned, completely overwhelming the bright hyena color.

 

"Stop this now." Angel said, firmly. "He is not mine, and so he is not yours to claim."

 

"You...aren't...he isn't...but he smells like you." Xander whined.

 

"He is not mine." Angel said firmly.

 

He licked Xander's face. Then again. A third lick. Graham watched that, then joined in, his lick a bit less enthusiastic than Angel's. Riley frowned his disbelief, then capitulated, and licked the other side of Xander's face, grimacing. Under the three tongues. Xander slowly calmed. Finally Angel lifted his head, finding Spike standing a few feet away arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

 

"Done yet, Peaches?" He asked sweetly. "I need a favor from you. Seeing as I've done you one. How about it, mate?"

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Gunn was on his back gazing up at the ceiling.

 

Alistair was sitting beside him, crosslegged, carefully holding his hand, their fingers wound together.

 

"I didn't expect it to be like that." Gunn remarked, surprised that he felt no discomfort staying where he was, laying on the bed, with Alistair over him, looking down. The expression on the normally taciturn vampire's face was far more open than Gunn had ever seen before.

 

"How did you expect it to be?" The blond asked.

 

"I thought it would hurt. Not feel good." Good was an understatement, as evidenced by the sticky mess in Gunn's pants. Just having his blood taken had brought him off. What a shock.

What a *big* fucking shock. Not even a hand down there to rub him off, just the fangs and Alistair drinking his blood had been enough to roll his eyes up into his head, and make him scream as he came.

 

"I am glad it did not hurt. That is a sign that we are compatible." The pure tenor voice assured him.

 

"So. Do we have to have sex now?" Gunn asked, a little nervously.

 

"Not immediately. Unless you would like to get it over with."

 

Gunn thought about it seriously. Did he want to just do it, get it over with? Put it off, think about it while he gradually drove himself into a panic? Or did he want to find out how bad or good it was? Since he had been so off base about the blood drinking...he just might be wrong about the sex, too. So did he want to know what it woudl be like now, later? What he would do if he had those beautiful lips on him? If he looked down and saw them around his hard cock. Just the idea made him shiver. Just how loud would he scream?

 

"I'd rather think about how this went first. It is kinda freaking me out that I am not more freaked out." Gunn said, his doubt in his voice. He really didn't know what he wanted.

 

Alistair actually laughed. Throwing his head back and baring the long, clean line of his throat. Gunn stared. How could anyone be so beautiful? How could any *man*? The vampire made as if to stand, face sparkling with happiness and his willingness to indulge the new thrall.

 

"I prayed for you to return to me, or that I would find you still alive." Alistair whispered. Gunn felt a frisson of...something, like deja vu pass over him. As if his very soul was reaching out, as if he'd known this man, vampire, whatever, for a very long time, as if he was....coming home. The feeling built, rising higer filling his belly, filling his chest, until he fought to breathe, fought not to scream. His hand whipped out and fastened on Alistair's wrist. The one he had drank blood from minutes ago. His thumb caressed the small wounds, almost healed. The place where he had sealed his lips, pulling the thick, red liquid into his mouth, and swallowed it down, until it filled him, claimed him, made him...Alistair's. Until it brought him...home.

 

"No." Gunn said, noting his voice was different, deeper. Not entirely his own. His body feeling larger, wider, broader, stronger than it had ever been. His body, but also another's. "Do not go. I misspoke. Be with me now, let me have your body again, let me feel your joy, let me give you pleasure, I need to remember what you are when you are beneath me, when you are around me, when I am riding into your flesh and learning the meaning of heaven on this earth." The voice vibrated with longing, need, desire and welcome.

 

Alistairs gasped, his chest raw with painful hope. His finger's dug into the man's arms. "Tristan." He breathed. "Brother, you are returned to me. Blessed be..."

 

Gunn was completely aware of what was going on. He felt the presence of the other inside of him, knowing it was part of him, had always been, would always be. Somehow he knew he had been Tristan, Alistair's Tristan. And now he was Gunn. Half a world away, centuries apart, but he was Gunn, and he was Tristan. Warrior then and warrior now.

 

Gunn's hand left the vampire's wrist, moving up his arm, to his face, cradling the smooth cheek in his big, very dark palm. Against it the alabaster of Alistair's skin glowed like perfect marble. "Let me be with you. Within you, my brother." The different voice asked. Gunn's heart echoing the request. They wanted the same things, this ghost of his past and the new him. Only Tristan knew how to ask for it, was not afraid and unlearned in it. Gunn rose up on one elbow, propping himself up and closer to Alistair, who was stunned, radiant as he looked down.

 

"Yes." The vampire sighed, his own voice falling deeper, deeper, his face changing, shining, intensifying. His fangs extending, lengthening, pressing into his lush full lower lip. His hands rose to his clothing, tearing at it, baring his flushed flesh to Gunn's eyes. "I am always yours to take." He was there, naked, his flesh beckoning, his ancient muscles still perfect, still as the Tristan that was Gunn remembered him.


	58. Chapter 58

  
Author's notes: Gunn and Alistair. Unexpected Lindsey.  


* * *

It was turning out to be a lot messier than Gunn had thought it would be. Much of that could be attributed to his newly awakened desire for Alistair's blood. And the even newer discovery that he was equipped to draw it himself. In a way. Or at least Tristan was. And what Tristan could do, so could Gunn. Gunn had always been strong, but now he was so much stronger than ever before. He lifted and moved the vampire in the bed as if he were weightless.

 

He ran his hands possessively up the long, lean, very white leg, utterly smooth and only faintly cooler than a human's. Gunn didn't understand how Alistair did that, stayed so warm. It was not chilling to touch him, not cold or clammy, it was not like touching something not human or something dead. Gunn squeezed the thick muscle, developed over centuries of fighting, drilling and training. It was wonderful to touch it.

 

Gunn marveled at the seductive curve of calf and thigh, at how Alistair watched his hand, and opened to it. Not reticent, not shy. His leg falling to the side, the center of him, thick and aroused and waiting for Gunn's desire. Gunn reached out, cupped his softness, loved the silken, cool feel of scrotum and testicles filling his cradling palm. Alistair shivered with pleasure at his touch as Gunn inched in, between the wide open thighs. The vampire not seeking to protect or to shield himself, just letting the hand do as it wished, stroking behind his balls, lightly, holding the fragile orbs. The action and the sensation was both known and new.

 

Nothing was so breathtaking as how the blond head fell back, neck arched while Gunn's dark fingers played with him. It didn't even trouble him to see the shadowy hand that was formed over and around his own.

 

Gunn watched his fingers, then looked up at Alistair's face, torn, not knowing which he wanted to watch more, long, beautiful cock, so not his own, or equally, stunningly beautiful face. His gaze traveled over flat, pink-tan nipples, and his mouth watered. He had to swallow hard, the hungry noise making it out anyway, Alistair looking at him with lust fogged eyes, questioning. Then throwing his head back and whimpering when he saw Gunn's predatory look.

 

Gunn loosened the hair clip, letting all that hair fall free, uncoiling it like ribbons of spun gold. Now he bent down, Alistair's legs wound around him, scenting the scent of Alistair, inhaling it deep into his body, remembering what he had not had in long centuries, and...not ever. He wanted more, he wanted blood, and he found he could take it.

 

He'd found out by bending down over the perfect beauty stretched out underneath him, going with unerring accuracy for the long, muscular column of throat, where he placed his thumbs to either side of the adam's apple, moving them up until he explored along the edge of jaw, mouth following thumbs to learn the way, forcing Alistair's head back with new strength, frightening in it's enormity.

 

The jugular, unprotected, was offered up to him. His teeth, his *fangs* sank into the flesh, and Alistair gasped, pressing up into the penetration instead of away. Nothing of his reserve surviving the bite. His scream was not so loud as it was abandoned, joyous, a belling call of joy. And just what Gunn needed. The scream jolted through him, skittering over his every nerve, lighting him up like fireworks. He drank, greedy deep droughts, sweet, salty, succulent blood, with the unmistakable flavor that was all Alistair.

 

Gunn knew it was his other self, the part that was Tristan who supplied the fangs. But Gunn himself was the one who drank, who let the blood trickle down his chin as he lifted up and away to place his mouth over Alistair's and share their first, long and ravenous, blood soaked kiss.

 

And perhaps also their thousandth one. It was good, it had always been. Tongues worshiping, sliding along the edge of dark, full lips, and sweetly pale ones. Licking hungrily, yet carefully. Never hurting. Light and dark, blending, sweat mingling. As they moved together. It was a dance they could never forget.

 

Gunn groaned. He had thought there would be no softness, only hard, masculine planes and roughness, but the vampire's skin was so smooth, delectable, flawless, fragrant. He licked it, that taste, that seduction by salt, scent and sweat.

 

The way Alistair arched into him, calling out both with words and wordlessly, welcoming him with body, teeth and tongue, arms embracing him, blood feeding him. Gunn wanted him, this other man, as badly as he'd ever desired any woman. Those past women faded to nothing when compared to the pale, death ghod who lay on his back, begging, heels hooked behind the power of Gunn's buttocks. Precum, gushing, dotted both their thighs and bellies, drooling out in thick strands.

 

He moved over Alistair, letting their bodies touch, laying himself over that one he so craved. He kissed, they kissed, Alistair's hands coming up, rubbing the dome of his shaved head, tracing his skin, his ears, gasping and groaning into his mouth, into his throat as he swallowed the sounds. Ate them as if they were food and flesh, buried his hands in the wealth of hair, tugging and fisting it in his fingers, feeling it flowing to cover his hands, his arms, his bared shoulders, wrapping him in warm silk.

 

Gunn lifted up, looked down into drowning green eyes, bright with light and dark with passion, honey bruised lips, panting, open, the crimson blood coating his neck stark against his paleness. The true vampire spread his thighs further, Gunn's weight settling closer, their bodies coming in tight, erection to erection, Gunn larger, darker, fearsome, Alistair moaning at the feel of it.

 

"Blood. Use the blood." Alistair's panted words confused Gunn for a moment, until Tristan's knowledge came to the fore. Then he dipped his fingers in the crimson flow, coating them, and reached down, for his first touch of that most intimate place, where he'd never touched another man before, painting it slick red, with the most careful and caring of touches.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

"Lindsey, these are my thralls, Graham, Xander, and Riley." Angel said from where he was embracing all three of them. He turned so he could see the man who Spike was still in front of, blocking access to the man. "And my Consort, Doyle."

 

"Doyle?" Lindsey asked, his eyes searched the small crowd, coming to rest on the slim man still standing back by the kitchen. "Doyle, I hadn't heard you were still here. That you were well."

 

And he hadn't. W&H's information when Lindsey was privy to it, had stated Doyle was dead, killed saving a crowd of his own demon kind. It was good to see evidence to the contrary, and to know W&H were not infallible. Doyle barely nodded at the new arrival, his face still, stony, wary.

 

"Lindsey MacDonald." It came from the second floor landing. All eyes turned up that way. Wesley was there, gripping the railing so hard his hands were white. Two well defined red spots were high on his cheeks. "What are you doing here?" The tone was neutral, not angry, not happy. Just...unreadable.

 

Lindsey felt the wave of relief swamp over him to see the Englishman was as he had heard, recovered from the multiple attacks he had endured, but he let none of that show, he stood his ground. Wesley, once their eyes met across the intervening space, started forward. The connection...it was there, as strong as ever. Lindsey waited, then stepped closer to Spike, who moved into his way.

 

Angel loosened his hold on Graham and Riley, but kept Xander near. Xander let out an inquiring sound, testing the hold. The vampire licked the side of his face, Xander stretching into it.

 

"Whoa there, green eyes." Though the eyes weren't really green, not like Doyle's. "Best not be rushing off in this crowd. They are a little jumpy." Spike lowered his hand when the former Wolfram and Hart lawyer stopped in his tracks.

 

Lindsey looked up again, making eye contact with the researcher, and the tall, dark man...no...that was not just a man, Lindsey decided, as the black eyes held cold, cold flame, all directed at him. Dislike, hunger, as if the creature thought he was food. And nothing more. He stared back, not giving anything away, no feelings showing on his face.

 

Wesley started down the stairs, the black man-creature, following him, a look of controlled rage on it's handsome face. Lindsey, and just about everyone else watched his progress. Angel turned to look, face impassive, stroking along Xander's cheek, Xander leaning into the caress, even as his yellow eyes found Lindsey over Angel's shoulder again. His hand reached out experimentally, flexing, drawing Lindsey's attention to the long, hooked claws as Xander measured the distance between them.

 

Spike frowned, shaking his finger at the werehyena. "None of that Xan-pet." He warned. Angel ignored them both, watching Wesley hurry down from the second floor. Wesley and Lindsey had never seemed to like each other. Most especially since Wesley had chosen to sleep with Lindsey's primary rival, Lilah. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, the tension between the two men was just gone. Angel had wondered about it at the time. But it seemed unimportant after Lindsey left.

 

Wesley finally stopped within arm's reach of Lindsey, his gaze flicking nervously to the hand that he remembered as pure evil. Lindsey immediately put the offending arm behind himself. Then Wesley moved the last, short distance and grasped his free hand, simply holding it, not shaking it so much, just taking it in both of his.

 

Wesley actually smiled, a small tight smile, and Lindsey seemed to relax, then...he smiled, too, his startling hazel eyes becoming alive. It was Wesley who moved forward, putting his arms around the other man. Lindsey melted, his arm going around the Englishman, his head falling to rest on Wesley's chest.

 

Doyle and Lindsey were of a height, Wesley, therefore, was far taller, and sparer of frame, Lindsey was definitely the more heavily muscled of the two. They held each other, the underside of Wesley's chin resting on Lindsey's hair, Lindsey's forehead pressing against Wesley's neck, while the rest of the Hyperion's residents stared with varying degrees of confusion and surprise.

 

"Missed you." Lindsey whispered, his breath ruffling along the other's skin, over Wes's collarbone.

 

"Me, too." Wesley said, into the soft brown hair. "How have you been, Linds?"

 

"Excuse me," Balthazar's voice interrupted, liquid ice. "But am I to understand you two know each other?" He glowered. "And very well?"

 

"Yes," Wesley said. And unlike his norm, he didn't add anything else. Nor did Lindsey, but Wes sort of expected that. Balthazar let out a hiss, his stride carrying him near, tight up to the two men. Spike met him, not threatening, just reminding the other he wasn't alone. That he shouldn't touch the men in violence. Doyle broke the impasse.

 

"You knew one of W&H's junior partners and you never told any of us?" Doyle was outraged.

 

"Doyle." Angel warned. "I knew. No one else needed to." And this was also not the time to let his consort know that Wesley had also had a sexual relationship with Lilah.

 

"Oh. And who decided that?" Doyle persisted, angrily, voice rising. Riley let out a sigh, Graham joining him when he shifted closer to Doyle, in case the half demon decided to act out physically. "There were certainly plenty of times the knowledge would have been very useful."

 

His voice petered out, gradually, then resumed, brows knit, trying to puzzle things out. "But you knew. and you didn't say anything. Why? The number of times we were hurt...Lilah succeeded in harming us repeatedly...and all along Wesley knew some one on the inside?"

 

"No." Wesley said, "He couldn't give us anything. You saw what happened to him when he shared information with us those few times he decided to chance it. They would have killed him."

 

"And the downside to that? Just how do you know him?" Doyle asked, his tone still heated.

 

"That is not your business." Lindsey said, holding Wesley around the waist. Angel intervened again before Doyle could let his temper loose more fully.

 

"Enough of this. Suffice to say we all have secrets in our past that best remain secret."

 

"Fine, so why is he here?" Doyle asked. "Feeling lonely? Need to add a few more to your harem? Why don't you just wait until someone walks by on the street and grab them?"

 

"Are you jealous, Consort?" Angel asked him, tilting his head to the side and looking at the small man with definite curiosity.

 

Doyle saw red.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Sweet kisses, gentle, loving, long and lingering. All the golden blondness, light filtering through it, until it shone in a nimbus around them, trailing a sighing caress, on shoulders, chest and arms. Gunn laying on his back, holding the narrow, strong hips in his hands as Alistair rode him.

 

Thick, iron hard column of flesh, piercing into warm, satin and velvet sheath. Tight, so tight, unbelievably good. Good. Sooooo good. Gunn dug his fingers in helplessly. It was Alistair who was doing this, driving him mad, to the edge and holding him there, not letting Gunn topple over, not letting him find release, even as the vampire panted his hopeful need. Calling out, pleading, in a multitude of languages. Gunn understanding only the English and the language of his body, of sex.

 

Alistair's channel slid up, taut, gripping, to hover at the very tip of Gunn's erection, surely the hardest one of his entire life. Then plunging down, yet...plunging was the wrong word, there was such tenderness in the act, such melting warmth holding him. The little grinding twist as delicate as a hand as it pleasured him when the pale buttocks met his groin. The moment of relaxation, when Alistair felt like melting, white chocolate around the base of his shaft, then the rise up, the subtle tension, again.

 

Trembling, shaking, all around him, betraying the high emotion in this act for Alistair. The love. Gunn felt sweat pouring down his own sides, slicking up his grip of the undulating hips. Alistair's head thrown back. Then lolling forward, his words becoming less clear in every language he spoke. Gunn watching, wanting, having. Unbelieving. This was so good. How could it be? Gunn didn't understand. And still Alistair moved. Impossibly good.

 

"Gunn." It was barely audible, barely coherent, Gunn ran his fingers up, touching the nipples that had fascinated him. That drew a hiss, and a moan. Pinkened mouth parting, lips wet, drenched, slippery. Gunn touching them, too, feeling the groan against his digits, shivering through him.

 

"Take me." Ghod, so deep, the voice that commanded even as it begged. Gunn rolled them over, Alistair laying not so much flat, as wide, spread, pierced to his core. Gunn able to see it even more clearly this way, how he disappeared *inside*. The sight rolling his own eyes up in his head. That was just so damn hot. He drove in, deep, deep, his balls coming to rest up against Alistair's cleaved buttocks. His black curls, against perfectly smooth, dilated skin.

 

Tristan was back, whispering in his brain, telling him what little else was needed, how to pull back and drive in, and make their lover, Gunn's and Tristan's lover, wild. Striking just right, over and over, arms hooked under knees, holding him, positioning, and fucking, harder, faster, just right. Until it was all too much. Finally, too much.

 

Alistair screamed, heat pouring into him as his own fluids jetted out, Gunn's belly smearing it, painting both their skins with the fragrance of sex and release, breath harsh, drawn and released between clenched teeth. Then mouths opening, wild. Crying out, a wailing shout, at last, together.


	59. Chapter 59

  
Author's notes: Doyle is upset, Angel responds. Gunn and Alistair continue bonding.   


* * *

Angel stared back at Doyle trying to read the expression on his face. Anger dominated the half-demon's face, the knotted muscles of his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth together. Angel had never seen him angry like this. Yelling, swearing and fighting, drinking and maudlin, waxing poetic on the beauties around them, or the horrors, yes. He'd seen the other man afraid, courageous, upset, but not this soul deep rage fighting to get out.

 

"Are you jealous, Doyle? There is no need...." Angel began, regreting the cavilier note he had used a moment before, knowing he should take this seriously, not treat Doyle in the mocking way vampires aften treated each other and expected to hear. Doyle was not a vampire, he was Angel's friend and he was hurting. It didn't matter that Angel wasn't sure why. Angel tried to gentle his approach, hoping to get Doyle talking, and looking less like he was ready to explode.

 

"Jealous? Perhaps. And if I am, why shouldn't I be? You have three human thralls, one who is a vampire, oh, and the vampire's thrall, a consort." Doyle bowed jerkily from the waist, pointing a thumb at his own chest, his action clearly not complimentary, the words spoken through gritted teeth.

 

"Myself in that singular role of consort, and all that is not enough for you? You want more. You bring in someone else? Lindsey, no less. He has consopred to have us killed in the past. And yet...here he is, And smelling of you, if Xander is to be believed. Then there are the vampires seeming without end who are permitted to drink your blood. There is no room for me. Go ahead take them all...it is not like I can stop you. I can't even control myself, my own will. I crawled on my knees outside your door, rolling on the rug like an animal, listening to you, ready to beg for your blood. Go ahead. Take them all." He waved his arm in the air.

 

"Go ahead take everyone. Just for variety, you might consider a woman or two. For when you get tired of making all the men lift their shirts and drop trou for your pleasure." Doyle snapped, then closed his eyes, fighting for a measure of control over the diatribe he was letting out. he pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets. He was well aware of all eyes being on him, vampires, lycanthropes, humans...and especially...Lindsey's. He shuddered.

 

"Doyle." Angel's voice cut through the babble. "I have told you, I will refuse you nothing. You need my blood? Take it, it is yours. You want my bed? It is open to you. You are my consort. Recognized by the demons. No one can take it away from you. What is yours is yours. You have my word, there will be no second consort."

 

"Yeah, mine and every other soul who walks through the front doors.They all get what I want, your blood." Doyle laughed bitterly. "Thank the sainted mother Cordelia is gone from here, or surely you would have dragged her to your bed, willing or un."

 

Angel just looked at the other, refusing to believe it was really how Doyle felt about him. Waited until Doyle threw back his head and let out a cry of ringing frustration and pain at the ceiling. Then the half demon looked back down, meeting Angel's eyes, sniffed, dashing a hand across his mouth, eyes and nose.

 

"Leaking like a seive, I am," he muttered, then raised defiant eyes. "What kind of choice do I have? I am not free." Doyle said, now his voice both angry and sad, as emotions flitted across his face. "I can't refuse your blood. I think about it all the time. The taste, the texture, the scent of it, how it slides down my throat, I can't do without it. It ties me to you. I am your consort, whether or not I wanted to be. That cow is well out of the barn. The Grimm made the decision for me, and you went along. Neither of you asking what I wanted, what I thought. If I could do this. But...." He shook a hand at them all, waving it around the room. "I won't share your bed, be one of your dozens of boys."

 

"I won't force you to my bed, Doyle. You are my friend. You may chose not to have relations with me. But, neither can you seek out another's bed. I will not have it known my consort seeks release elsewhere. So my bed is always open to you, should you change your mind. Do you want to be the only one? I can't give that to you. I have my thralls, I want and need them in every way." Doyle was shaking his head slowly back and forth.

 

"That is not it." The dark haired man said. He was hoping he was telling the truth. He forced his doubts down, this was not about him, it was about more, it was about Angel. Angel who was far different than the vampire he had been used to working with. angel who was suddenly a glutton, feeding on everything around him, an Angel that scared Doyle, because he was no longer predictable.

 

"What?" Angel asked, eyes narrowing a fraction, his arm tightened around Xander, who was back against his side. Doyle had taken care to stay out of Angel's reach, so despite itching to touch him, Angel stayed back. "What do you think I am doing?"

 

Spike was listening silently from his position behind Angel, and in front of Lindsey. Lindsey who was coming closer, calm, his breath unhurried. No fear. Just curiosity, interest, and a tiny whiff of concern. Spike sniffed in the man's scent again, just to confirm what he thought he'd smelled, but the elusive tendril was withdrawn, faded away. Doyle was speaking again, earnestly.

 

"I think...all of a sudden...you have no limits. No one can say no to you and make it stick. You see something or someone, you want them, so you take them. Without thinking if they want it or not. The Grimm have called you king, and you have jumped at it. Abandoned what you have worked for all this time. You....*we* were all about helping others, the hopeless, remember?You've gone away from that. No second thoughts, no hesitation." Doyle said, the conviction in his voice sending a chill through the vampire.

 

Angel caught Riley's nod out of the corner of his eye, making it clear as crystal at least one of his thralls agreed with his consort. This was not good. The second to speak out against him in public. Those who should be his closest support, his steadfast allies, his own, spoke out against him. They either were not politically wise, or they wished to undermine him. He could not believe the second possibility. But whatever their intent, it was what they were accomplishing. Angel was well aware of the few choices left to him. He could give up now, refuse the kingship, let his friends pay the price when others flooded in to take over what he had been compelled to start. He could stand aside and be what he used to be, and see his friends and allies slaughtered for it, or he could lay down the law. he only hoped that someday Doyle would understand, in his heart, why Angel was going to do what he had to.

 

"And what would you have me do?" Angel asked Doyle quietly. "Do you wish to die because I will not take the role put upon me? I am king, Doyle. I can't undo it. You have spent years fleeing from half of what you are...." Angel meant to go on, to explain how he had done the some thing fleeing from his heritage as a vampire, but Doyle cut him off.

 

"And you, have spent much longer killing your own kind." Doyle shot back, unthinking, thinking Angel was attacking him on a personal level. " Don't try to turn it around on me, boyo...." That was the last straw. Angel could not allow another public escalation. So what if the only ones here were his people, word would get out.

 

Angel raised his voice. "Silence! Upstairs, now!" The sound crashed through the hotel, rumbling the walls, weapons clattering to the floor, followed by the thud of bodies, driving all in the lobby to their knees, hands clapped over their ears. Xander sagged to the floor, whining. Balthazar crawled over to Wesley, curling around his thrall, his body a shield, the need to protect Wes an instinct he could not deny.

 

Angel took a handful of Doyle's shirt, tossed him several feet through the air, to the base of the staircase, where he rollled until he fetched up against the bottom step. He prodded Xander and the other two dazed thralls to their hands and knees.

 

"Upstairs. Now." He roared. Watching as they fled on hands and knees, gaining their feet as they reached the stairs, clinging to the banister. Stumbling and scrambling upwards, Angel stalking behind.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Gunn felt more than a little pleased with himself. It wasn't every man who could make a vampire scream. Especially a man who considered himself just about 100% heterosexual. He grinned, noting that the terms had changed from the absolute heterosexual statement, to...just about absolute, with one exception...And that was as true as he could make it. He certainly couldn't see himself wanting to increase the pool of men he took to the sheets. He shuddered even thinking about it.

 

He made no effort to roll off of Alistair, liking the feel of the vampire underneath him. The slickness of their pleasure, a shared effort, covering most of his body. It was a little sticky, but hey, he had never been a man afraid of a mess when he was intent on his pleasure, or that of his partner in bed. He inhaled the sharp, lightly chlorine scent, musky, sexy. He smiled his contentment. Yeah, sexy alright. And you could add damn hot to that as well.

 

The sheets were not white any longer when he finally raised his head. That gave him pause. The paleness of a body laying atop blood drenched sheets, still, unmoving, a statue, no breath, no heartbeat. Gunn suddenly was chilled, reminded of innumerable crime scenes, vampire and demon assaults, where death had looked much the same as this.

 

A thrill of undiluted fear lasered through him. Sharp and immediate. He felt as if his own breath wouldn't come, as if it was trapped in his lungs and couldn't move in or out. This was Alistair who lay still as death. Gunn knew it wasn't true, it couldn't be true. But...he felt panic rising.

 

He felt Tristan in the back of his mind, slow with the after effects of pleasure such as he hadn't known for centuries. But Gunn was too panicked to hear the other's whispers of soothing. The offereings of memories to ease his fear. What if he'd taken too much blood? He'd been frenzied, on the highest high he'd ever known. What if he'd somehow taken too much of the blood he'd craved? What if he'd brought Alistair, his true companion, true death? He opened his mouth, wanting to scream, this time in fear, but no sound came out, Trisitan coming on stronger, still not strong enough. Gunn gulped at the air, too thin, in the room. Oh Ghod. What had he done?

 

Then he was not alone, Alistair moved, strong arms coming to slip around him, cradle him, and the muscular chest lifted with breath. He heard the air rush into the lungs under his ear as he was held against the strong body. Foolishly, he felt tears fill his eyes. Tristan was there, part of him, flooding him with understanding, acceptance.

 

"I am sorry." Alistair whispered to Gunn. "I forgot that you were...I forgot what it would be like for you, my brother, when I chose not to breathe. Sometimes death calls, and it is easiest to answer her as she wills it, for a time. I am well. Do not fear. See? I am breathing for you. When you wish it, when you need it, I will always breathe for you." He took one of Gunn's larger, darker hands, hazy with the ghost of another's, and lay it against his chest. "And my heart, it will always beat for you, when you need it."

 

Gunn let his palm cup around Alistair's white skinned ribs, absorbing the steady throb of his heartbeat. Gunn clutched at the vampire with possessive fingers, an alien action, for him at least. They lay together, Alistair taking long, slow, reassuring breaths, waiting for Gunn's own breath to even out, to calm, the constriction in his chest to loosen.

 

Then, abruptly Alistair froze, going stiff, rigid all along his length. He felt like an animal, underneath Gunn, listening with every cell of his body. Gunn raised up off of him, feeling the instant adrenaline response. The preparation for battle that had become second nature in him. Something was going down.

 

"What is it?" He whispered. Knowing Alistair would hear him with his vampire sharp senses.

 

"Angel." Alistair said, sitting up, Gunn in his arms. Gunn even in the distracted momant, senseing the oddness of being held by one so much stronger than himself. It was a precursor to how it would feel when Alistair's turn came around, and Gunn would give in to him. Gently he extricated himself on that strange thought.

 

"What about Angel?" Gunn quizzed.

 

"His call, I feel it." Alistair looked at him as he got out of bed, reaching for his clothing. His pale eyes roamed Gunn's features. "You do not?"

 

Gunn shook his head, there was something...but it was too distant for him to know what it was. He too, began to dress. "Nope. Hey. We aren't done here are we?" He asked the question that popped into his mind. "I thought it would have to be the other way around."

 

Alistair understood what Gunn was asking without too much trouble. He smiled his faint smile. "You are correct, there is more." He cupped Gunn's face in his hand, Tristan floating forward to feel the touch, long fingers standing out in sharp contrast, like white light against Gunn's rich darkness. Then Alistair concentrated on getting dressed.

 

Gunn swallowed. "Right." He said, feeling the flush run up his face at the thought. Everything he'd done to Alistair...being done to him. That was what he had to look forward to. Alistair had liked it. Gunn had liked it, too. at least from the position he had been in. Thinking about being on the receiving end...that was something else. A whole new ball of wax. It was exciting...and it made him squirm at the same time. All that...he shook his head to clear it.

 

Alistair tucked his sword into his belt, held Gunn's axe out to him. And that was that. Time to think about sex and those kind of breath stealing things later. Now was the time to find out what Angel's call was about. To be ready to fight if it came down to it.

 

Gunn followed Alistair out of the room, his axe held in both big hands. He....they...the three of them, were ready.


	60. Chapter 60

  
Author's notes: Buffy visits and chaos follows.  


* * *

The doors slammed open behind them. And a boiling ball of female energy burst into the foyer, blond hair flying. She strode inside, not waiting for an invitation, filled with the need for forgiveness, for acceptance. That lasted less than a moment when her eyes took in the scene playing out. Then she felt righteous indignation, it zinged though her, inflating her chest, pumping into her muscles, lifting her chin in defiance.

 

Balthazar, still on the floor of the entryway, rose shakily to his feet, placing himself between Wes and the female intruder. Wesley, recalling the last invasion involving this particular visitor, pulled Lindsey with him. The former W&H lawyer tried to see around them both.

 

"Who is that?" He asked, wide hazel eyes gone shiny, curious, Wesley shushed him.

 

"Shhh. Not now. Bad news." Wes said, tugging Lindsey closer to the elevator. He put his mouth next to the smaller man's ear. "The Slayer." He felt Lindsey's nod. Of course Lindsey would know what a slayer was. Wesley kept an eye on the slender woman who was exploring the terrain with a sharp gaze.

 

Balthazar shifted herding his thrall back from the dangerous woman, and because Wes had hold of the smaller man, Zar was standing guard for him, too. Vigilant, watchful, not trusting the invader with her propensity not to think, only to act. Violently. Unstable. It was as clear to him as the sunlight outside. Balthazar never took his eyes off of her, intent on moving further out of her range, even as she strode in.

 

"What the hell is going on?" Buffy yelled, seeing the men crawling and stumbling up the steps. Angel, big and beautiful stalking along behind them, the only one of them standing fully upright, his arm around a slender man with dark hair and a too pale face. This wasn't something she thought to see, not from Angel. This was more Angelus' speed. She squared her shoulders and raised her fists along with her voice.

 

"Angelus!" She shouted, and Angel turned to look at her, easing Doyle down to sit on the step they were on. Doyle collapsed, sinking gratefully down, panting.

 

Spike winced. He knew how Buffy's brain worked. Angel had turned at the hated name. Buffy would take that to mean he was purely evil Angelus. And nothing stood a chance of convincing her otherwise. He gathered Oz and Nic, who was staring at the little blond dynamo, obviously recognizing just who stood in the entryway, and tucked them behind him, edging towards the kitchen and greater safety.

 

Buffy ran a few steps further into the building. Giles was just behind her, wary, a cross grasped in his hand, and a stake. Angel almost smiled at the sight. The last try at killing him and fending him off with just those items had been enlightening. Then he remembered that even if it didn't kill him, it had hurt, a lot. His almost smile turned bitter. Buffy had meant to kill him, even if for only an instant, she had meant to, though it hadn't worked. And it could kill other vampires, his vampires. He scowled down at the very young, unlined face turned up at him.

 

"What do you want, Buffy?" He growled. Making sure he was in front of all his thralls, and the gasping Doyle, as they stopped, looking at her and the watcher who followed her. He spread his feet apart, sinking into his center for balance, not underestimating her, ready. She was looking at his thralls, not at him. Anguish rising on her face. Anguish? He felt a frisson of surprise at that. Was it only jealousy? It seemed like more.

 

As her eyes traveled from figure to figure, Buffy felt like her heart was being ripped out. Angel was going seriously wrong. There was no doubt, only Angelus could do this, hurt them until they had no choice but to go to their hands and knees, make his victims crawl, humiliate them so cruelly. He was torturing his people. She could not allow it.

 

Her tear blurred vision caught sight of Riley on his knees, hands splayed on the step under him, his shoulders rounded, his head down, his trembling visible from where she stood. Had he been beaten? The horror of it sang though her, trembling her own limbs. She couldn't bear to know that, to know that her lover was being hurt, her Riley, forced to endure, unable to fight back. At the hands of the man who had first taken her. The sob caught in her throat.

 

Her attention traveled to Graham clutching the rail, his handsome face taut, his grey eyes filled with uncharacteristic trepidation. She saw it, and felt surprise, that the inscrutable man was showing so much. How had Angelus done it? Broken him to the point of this? Buffy had never seen Graham like this, so...readable. Even as she thought it, Graham took a step back down the staircase, as if to come to her for sanctuary, she felt it in her bones, felt the need to help him, them.

 

Xander whimpering, it crashed into her awareness. Her Xander, her friend, making that kind of noise, being that desperate, driven to begging, for that sound was begging to her ear. His whimper changed to a whine. She answered it with her own pained sound. She didn't even know the other men scattered through the room, but it was not acceptable. Angelus had to be stopped. She headed up the stairs.

 

Xander's whine lingered, long and thin, then changed, as the woman mounted the stairs, to a deep throated growl. He turned fully and headed jerkily down the steps.

 

"Buffy." Giles yelled after her, flinging himself in pursuit. He remembered just who it was who had cast his slayer off the third floor. It was not the vampire he worried over, Angel had control, Xander was more animal than man. Giles ran toward his determined, unwary, misguided charge. He knew how the scene would look to her, how she would feel the need to save those who in reality didn't need saving, or could not be saved. They'd come here to talk, not to do this.

 

He shouted. "Buffy! Stop!"

 

But she continued climbing, fists balled at her shoulders height, eyes drilling into her hapless target. She saw only the vampire, tall and handsome, his arrogant mouth, unbending, regal as he stood waiting for her.

 

She did not see Graham and Riley starting down, faces grim, not abused. Nor did she see Xander, his beast foremost, his face prickling with tiny new hyena hairs, his fangs growing, his throat rumbling with a fatal warning. Giles saw it, heard it and knew disaster was only an instant away.

 

Angel raised his hand, and his voice. He commanded them. "Stop." And they did. Clapping hands for the second time over abused ears, going to the ground again, settling around his legs, Doyle swooning, half under Xander, Xander clawing weakly in the direction of the still too distant target he'd been set on reaching.

 

Giles felt like he had literally run into a wall. Cross and stake clattering to the floor, followed by his knees striking the unforgiving tile with a meaty thump. He winced, acknowledging the pain, but his main focus stayed on his charge as she crumpled.

 

Buffy tripped over her legs, and fell onto hands and knees. Shock was written all over her face. Angel sympathized, but resisted the urge to go forward and to help lift her to her feet. She had never been so easily stopped. No blows, no blood, no fight at all, just a roared command that felt as if it would shatter her bones if she didn't stop. Her struggles to rise were for nothing. She had to lay helpless, to breathe, in and out, to try and find the strength that was just, suddenly, gone.

 

She was the slayer. She refused to give up. She struggled to push herself upright, her hands pawing at the marble steps, slipping, useless.

 

"Buffy, hold still. It takes a minute to ease." Angel's voice, kindly....no, she corrected herself harshly, Angelus' voice, not kindly told her, and she was not about to take advice from the creature who had killed as surely as the plague in Europe. The black death. It should have been *his* name, not the disease's. His unbeating heart had been the blackest thing it had even been her curse to meet. She fought to raise up. Sweat running off her face, the tip of her nose, dripping onto the marble.

 

"Giles." The voice called out, and Giles found he could move again, the weight of the world easing off of him. "Can you stop her? I would rather not have her hurt." It was Angel, not Angelus, Giles was positive. Though, there was a trace of an accent, Irish lilt, and Angel did not do accents. Giles frowned as he got to his feet, staggered, then steadied himself.

 

"Am I permitted to come up the stairs to her?" He asked cautiously. Not willing to undergo another command like that last if he did something to displease the vampire. It had *hurt*. The sound becoming physical, tearing through his body like a clawed rake, sliding pronged teeth over his bones and flesh. It hardly mattered the pain was fleeting and now gone. He remembered it.

 

"Come." Angel agreed, placing his leg in front of Xander, who was trying to reach Buffy, slithering on his stomach, alternating between whimpers and growls. Having endured two episodes of the voice, he still fought against it. Fought to get at the threat to his master and eliminate it. Angel blocked him.

 

Giles made his way carefully to the base of the stair. His feet were dragging. Like he didn't remember how to walk yet. The pain was faded, but his body was slow to remember his control, not the command. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. A movement up on the higher landing caught his eye.

 

A tall, very pale blond man, with a face like a saint, eyes like spring grass, and a mouth that could call the soul from anyone's body, was making his way towards the group on the stair. He had a long sword unsheathed in his hand, and power rolled off of him. Vampire, Giles concluded. Yes. Evil? No? Then his eyes shifted, blurred, widened.

 

"Wot the bleeding hell?" Spike's voice cut through the air, disbelief communicating clearly. Giles echoed it in his mind. Unable to look away from the newcomers.

 

Behind the vampire was a second figure. Giles blinked. A taller, darker man, his face calm and every bit as serene as the smooth face of the vampire who preceded him. But human. Uhhh. Light haloed him, the second man, faint, glowing, white and streaked with gold.

 

Giles blinked again, what on Earth? His stunned expression made the others on the stair turn, look up as the new pair descended in a smooth, deadly efficient rush. The predatory pace, the movement, ferally intent, making Giles question his first assessment, were they evil? Or just dangerous?

 

Buffy groaned. Her vision was blurring, someone was bending over her. A young, dark face. Human, she felt that much, unsmiling, serious. She fluttered her lids. Shook her head as she rolled fully, arms mostly limp and useless, onto her back, the edges of the steps digging into her back. He lifted her, the blade of an axe gleaming at her over his wide shoulder. She tried to see him clearly, but the outline of him blurred each time she tried to focus. He was all glowy and bright. The light trailing off of him in long tendrils, pooling wherever they fell, then fading slowly, evaporating while she watched.

 

Angel, she thought. He was an angel. What was an angel doing here? With Angelus? Saving her? He lifted her easily, held her, her head lolling limply as she tried to figure it out. His arms were like cradling steel. Secure.

 

"Gunn." Angel said, a question in his voice. Interest in his dark chocolate eyes.

 

Gun? Buffy moaned. Someone had a gun. She had to...But she couldn't move. Not enough to save anyone. To stop anyone. Giles! He would be hurt. She moaned again.

 

"Alistair?" She heard Angelus. This time a name, hoighty-toighty British, just like Giles' and Wesley's she thought tangentially. Angelus asked. "What has happened?"

 

And a voice that was truly of the chorus of heaven answered. No human throat could create that voice, she thought in her dazed state. "Tristan." The voice said, sweet sound falling like golden bells in her ear. "Tristan is joined to him."

 

Buffy relaxed. If an angel was here, she was safe. She wasn't going to die. They were all safe, saved, all of them. She could rest, relax. Her fogged brain shut down, her eyes drifting shut. Her body sagging in Gunn's hold.

 

Giles scrambled weakly up the last few steps. "What is it? What is wrong with her?" He panted, his distrust of the new men overcome by the concern for Buffy. His fingers found and knotted in the man's pants leg. He wanted to take her from the man holding her. But he knew he wasn't strong enough. He settled for reaching up and supporting her head with uncertain hands.

 

"She's out cold." The dark, glowing man said. His voice completely matter of fact, nothing but human.


	61. Chapter 61

  
Author's notes: Maggie Walsh discovers the loss of her men, and responds. Spike asks for Sam. Angel starts to talk to his thralls.  


* * *

Dr Margaret Walsh was livid as she sat at her desk, papers spread tidily in front of her. The whole point in having soldiers attached solely to the Initiative project was so they would gain a sense of purpose and loyalty, dedication to the cause as it were. And develop a deeper, more personal responsibility for the safety of the project. Go the extra mile to keep it safe and secure. That was not happening. She was not happy about it.

 

She ran her finger down the list of names. Seven men lost to the project through their own negligence and that of their commander. They weren't all that great a loss, none were in danger of receiving any sort of positive recommendation from her when their service was over, but, she also was not going to be getting replacements anytime soon. Numbers counted for something. An extra pair of eyes was, at times, critical. That little conflict overseas was draining her resource pool.

 

She was disappointed in the quality of the men she had received as volunteers lately. Her congressional contacts, intimately involved in the secret Initiative project, told her they had no alternative to sending her new, inexperienced men. No matter how crucial security was, they just could not draw attention to themselves by pulling more qualified soldiers off front line duty. So she was getting youngsters right out of boot camp. Now she was reaping the rewards of having newbies doing jobs that required men of intellect and crafty experience. Insulting given the importance of her work.

 

Her men were hardly more than childish, disobedient boys. They had failed her more than once. And now the project was in jeopardy. It was not acceptable. Her definitive life's work, ground breaking and unique in it's vast scope, all of it was at risk of collapsing around her. She had to take drastic measures if she was to save it.

 

The two remaining soldiers and their local team commander had notified her that the observation had been discovered. They denied taking a high profile, in fact they denied doing anything overt that would reveal them to Angel and his minions. But the fact remained, they had been discovered and seven of the team were now prisoners of the vampire. She pointed it out to the idiots, they had been discovered, and there was a reason why. They still refused to acknowledge their responsibility.

 

The team commander admitted that he had allowed the men to wear their combat boots, because in LA there were all sorts of military groupies, and he'd decided they didn't need that extra precaution of complete civilian dress. Besides, he thought it was more important to preserve a sense of belonging to a team by allowing them their boots. Walsh almost bit her tongue off screaming at him when he'd minimized the decision and denied it had anything to do with the team's discovery, in his opinion. If the man was a demon, she would have the pleasure of strapping him to her lab table and teaching him what the consequences of disobeying or annoying her with his incompetence were.

 

But he was military, and assigned to her. She needed to be careful. Dot the i's and cross the t's. So...she did have other options. She still needed more subjects for study. And it was easy to arrange an accidental infection in someone so ignorant and arrogant as the team leader. He had after all deliberately disobeyed her instructions. That showed her he had not developed the necessary loyalty and ability to follow her orders exactly required to continue in a leadership role at the Initiative. Nor did he have much in the way of a sense of self preservation. A slip of the needle and he would be hers for the taking. Then he would be a "demon" and she would have no trouble justifying her use of him to further her knowledge of demons in the interest of the government.

 

Finn and his team at least had covert ops backgrounds. Finn got things done. Until he met that little tramp, Buffy. The one called the Slayer. Then he had started questioning Walsh, her methods and her decisions, all because the blond had introduced him to a few demons who "weren't so bad" in Finn's words. The downward spiral was too fast for her to stop it, to salvage him. And now she was stuck with nothing but imbecilic children to do a man's job. She threw her clipboard across the empty expanse into her office wall. The skinny soldier outside her shatterproof window jumped a foot into the air. She ground her teeth together, then took a breath to calm herself.

 

She got up, walked to the safe hidden behind the secret panel. Out of sight from the corridor and the window, she opened the panel and inserted the key she drew out from under her blouse. The secondary panel slipped aside. She removed a slim booklet.

 

It was her last resort. A private firm who would give anything for a look at her research. The government had driven Maggie Walsh to this point by offering her less than the best resources. She had little choice but to go outside the government and seek the aid she required elsewhere. She stepped to her scrambler phone. She'd modified it herself after receiving the standard spy phone. It was now perhaps the most secure phone in the nation, completely untraceable. She wanted no one on her end or anywhere else being privy to this conversation. She sat down and dialed the private number of the senior partner of the firm.

 

Dr Margaret Walsh traced a finger over the embossed card in her hand. Wolfram and Hart. Impeccable taste, at the very least. It was still to be seen if they were any good at keeping their promises.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel turned slowly away from Gunn, Alistair and Buffy, realizing he considered the problem with Doyle and Riley more important, more vital to resolve than any issue with Buffy or Giles or Lindsey for that matter. There was a time when nothing had mattered more than the tiny girl Gunn held. That time was now past.

 

Angel glanced towards the four men who were huddled on the steps behind him, their temporary defiance in the face of a conflict fading and worry suddenly predominating on all of their faces. He glared at them, daring them to say one word. He gestured up the stairs, and understanding flashed in all four sets of eyes.

 

They scrambled up the steps, stumbling a little, Xander herding the others, urging them on to greater effort, faster. Graham helping Doyle, a grip on his elbow. Angel shook himself head to foot trying to get himself in hand, Spike hearing the low growl he was emitting from across the lobby. Then Angel went after the three thralls and one consort as they fled, rage trembling in a fine, red fire over his vision. His hands folded into fists as he went.

 

Spike watched Balthazar at last attain the elevator and soundlessly, or nearly so, shove Wesley inside. Wesley dragging Lindsey, who's large hazel eyes were bright with curiosity, after them. Spike was envious of their escape as the doors of the lift closed and the indicator tracked their upward progress. Angel was only halfway up the stair. Close enough for trouble.

 

Nic leaned in to Spike's back, lowering his head to whisper in the vampire's ear. He said only one word, "Sam", but the need in that word was so great Spike decided he had to try and ease his thrall's worry.

 

"Angel." Spike called out. He climbed the stairs quickly, after making it very clear that he would not tolerate his thralls following him. Angel was not in any fit state, in Spike's judgment, to be confronted by anyone who was not very hard to hurt or kill. Accidents, both deliberate and truly accidental could and did happen. He was not going to take any chance on Nic or Oz being harmed.

 

"Whoa there, Sire." Spike said, catching hold of Angel's arm, halting him in his tracks. "I have a little business I need to take care of if you can spare me the time." The look Angel turned on him was pure ice and threat, barely contained. Spike lifted his hands in the air, taking big step back. He paid careful attention to his footing, in case he had to run.

 

"Please, Liam." Angel's eyes grew even darker, bleaker. Whoops, thought Spike, wrong choice. He had been trying to appeal to their past history. And that was not the right route to go just now. He backed up against the banister, letting his knees relax enough to warily, cautiously gain his knees so he looked up into his Sire's furious face from a position of supplication.

 

Alistair was now watching him as well as Angel, his haughty, beautiful face coolly observing. Probably the same expression he would wear if Angel tore Spike's throat out. Spike shivered at the pale green lasers that fixed on him with disconcerting approval. Alistair apparently thought better of him for going to his knees. But of course Spike knew Alistair viewed Angel as a true King. Even with all the power Angel was gaining, Spike had trouble seeing Angel like that. While Alistair knelt easily, it twisted something inside Spike to do it. But Nic wanted to save his friend, and desperate measures were definitely in order when Angel was in this mood. So...

 

"Sire." Spike amended, lifting his eyes to Angel's face. Angel's eyes warmed from glacial to merely frosty as his gaze roamed over Spike's pale, sculpted features, his white blond hair, his full lips, his blue eyes. Eyes begging for Angel to listen. Spike never begged. He was not good at it. Usually. But this was very...prettily done. Angel growled, but he stopped his upward progress.

 

"What is it, William? Bearing in mind I am not in the mood to be troubled with trivialities." Angel asked, his tone deceptively even, but bass, rumbling with the dregs of the power he had used moments before. Spike didn't miss the fangs denting his sire's lips. The flash of gold and crimson in his irises.

 

"Nothing much for you to give, Sire. I want the soldier named Sam for my own." Spike said, knowing he had better get to the point and fast. It was odd to see the look of surprise in Angel's eyes. He had expected something different. Or just not this.

 

"Why?" Angel looked his Childe up and down. "Why do you want one specific soldier out of all of them? What is the difference to you, Childe? They are strangers, tools to be put to use. What reason should I give you that one?"

 

"Nicky knows him." Spike admitted, not liking drawing the other's attention to his thrall. Angel turned his dark eyes to the man named. They flashed and the scent of fear filled the lobby. Not sharp and pungent, but lightly. Nic was not frozen with it, but he was afraid. Spike fought not to rise to his feet, fought not to run to his thrall and stand before him, protecting him. He saw Oz reach out, take Nic's hand, move up against him, subtly maneuvering himself between the stairs and Nic.

 

Nic felt his heart beat accelerating. Angel was far different from Spike. Angel was cold and hard, while Spike was warm, kind and watched out for him. It was beyond him how Angel could generate any loyalty at all. Why would anyone want to be attached to him? Poor Riley, Graham, Xander and Doyle. How could they stand it, the terror of being with him? He scared the living shit out of Nic.

 

Angel looked back at his Childe, examining him closely. "Don't let that blind you to the risks. Your thrall may say he can be trusted, but do not believe it until it is proven. You are a gentle soul, William the Bloody, when it comes down to your thralls. Take care that you remain in control, and are not hurt by that. I would not be pleased to see you hurt, William." Angel sighed, a ragged sound, not a release of any significant amount of tension.

 

"Take him, he is yours. If he isn't already bonded to Remus or Romulus you may trade him for one of the others." Angel sighed. "Is that all? There is something I need to take care of."

 

"Yes." Spike answered from his position on his knees. If this position had won him this boon, he might try it again. Then he realized he had thought it over and done too soon.

 

"Yes what?" Angel asked his voice dropping into frighteningly low registers. Bending down, nearer to Spike.

 

"Yes, Sire, that is all. And yes, Sire, there are other things that need seeing to." Spike leaned back, halting abruptly when Angel's hand curled around the back of his neck, hard, but not intending to hurt. Angel held him there, immobile, looking into the pale blue of his eyes. He leaned down further, until they were inches apart, the dark eyes meeting blue. His face came closer, and closer, Spike's heart thumping once in his chest as he forced himself to stay still. Not to obey his instinct and try to free himself. And run like hell. Angel leaned in and pressed a kiss to his Childe's forehead his mouth oddly warm, though not human hot. Then he let go.

 

"Get out of here, Spike." Angel said. Startling Spike with the use of the new name his Childe liked, a thing he never did. "Go and stake your claim. If you still need help to take a thrall let me know. Later."

 

Then the other vampire, the king of LA, turned and went up the stairs. Leaving Spike gaping after him, on his knees, filled with a relief so huge and profound he just knelt there unmoving.

 

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel let the door drift shut behind him. For a minute he leaned back against the heavy, solid wood. His head tilted back, he looked up at the off white of the ceiling, thinking.

 

He was angry. And he didn't want to be. Being angry was not the right mood for this talk. He knew he might hurt Riley or Doyle if he lost control. Xander could hold his own, and Graham was reserved and in control enough not to provoke him. But the other two...they were not as careful of the risks inherent in Angel's changed circumstances. They acted as if, with the proper impetus, Angel would change back to the vampire who helped humans and nothing more. An impossible dream. If a nice and nostalgic one.

 

Angel no longer had that option. He was in a corner. Rule or die. Rule or see his friends die. Rule or see more innocents die. Rule or see his Childer die. Rule or else. But so far, Riley, his tall, idealistic thrall, couldn't grasp those concepts. And he was discovering Doyle also was falling short of comprehending their circumstances.

 

He should have noticed. He should not have assumed Riley got the message the first time he'd meant to deal with this. Certainly Riley had learned something, he had not spoken out this time. But the man had nodded, agreeing openly with Doyle's overt attack. Such was intolerable. Maybe if he was the old Angel he might shrug it off, not now. Now the price for failure was too high.

 

Angel let his gaze drift down to the four men sitting on the large bed. Blue eyes, grey eyes, green eyes, and brown eyes. Angel met each set, holding the gaze for several long, tense seconds, feeling the tension grow as he did. They were all picking up how seriously he was taking this, these transgressions. He heard them all swallow one by one. Then in a group, clear their throats. He almost smiled. But that would set the wrong tone. His face grim, he stepped away from the door, reaching back to flip the lock. The click echoed loudly. And four heartbeats speeded up, to differing degrees, as Angel advanced on the bed.


	62. Chapter 62

  
Author's notes: Angel chats with his thralls. Sam joins the group. Oz and the full moon. Oooops.  


* * *

"That was utterly remarkable!" Giles said from his seat on the marble stair, glasses slightly askew, panting to catch his breath. Spike looked at him as if he was speaking in a foreign tongue, still on his knees, and shaking like a leaf. That was not at all the word he was thinking of.

 

"Remarkable...right." Spike mumbled, looking around as if trying to figure out just where he was. He cleared his throat when his voice came out a bit squeaky. "I need a drink."

 

"Are you quite alright?" Giles asked. Sitting up was a bit easier than it had been a moment ago. He reached out a cautious hand, laying it on Spike's forearm. Spike jumped, wild eyes finding the watcher's. Giles pulled his hand back seeing the immediate flash of blue eyes going gold.

 

A skittering rush turned Giles' head in the direction of the two men Spike had left at the base of the stair. They were coming up the treads with a good deal of speed, not slowed by anything or anyone now that Angel was gone. They seemed unafraid of the tall, very golden blond vampire who towered over Giles and Spike, sword unsheathed in his hand. They pounced on Spike and literally surrounded him until he was hidden from view.

 

Well. Giles looked down, then up as the big dark man talked to him. "Giles? Can you stand? Do you need help? We are going to find a room for Buffy to lay down." The Slayer was still unconscious, her hair falling over the dark brown skin of the warrior's arm, her face shockingly young in repose. Her chest rose and fell with each reassuring breath she took. But, she should rest. Giles heartily agreed.

 

That got Giles up and on his feet. He wasn't about to let Buffy out of his sight. Not in this hotel teeming with vampires and demons and the like. He wasn't that trusting nor that much of a fool. Beauty hid a multitude of sins. And the one remaining vampire in the room was beautiful. Brain-stopping-ly so. Giles wobbled a bit. He felt a bit fuzzy. And that lovely creature's hand reached out to steady him, drying his mouth instantly, making his heart go pitterpat.

 

"Are you able to walk?" The voice asked, as he listened to the many sounds comprising the question, fighting through the sweet tones, the sylvan cascade of notes, to the meaning. It was remarkably like being under the influence in his youth. He managed to decipher the message. Then he nodded.

 

"Yes, thank you. Yes. I am fine." He straightened his shirt, helpless to smooth the wrinkling or clean the smudges away. But he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. Then almost fell backwards down the stairs. He grabbed for the arm that supported him. "Lead on, brave knight."

 

"I am sure Wesley has something that would fit you." Gunn said, swinging around, Buffy still in his embracing carry, and headed up the steps.

 

"Second floor alright?" It had to be, because there was no way Gunn was going to risk putting this Slayer-girl closer than that to Angel and his difficult thralls. Alistair followed behind, assisting the power drunk watcher up after his Slayer.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

"I wasn't much of a man when I was alive." Angel said conversationally, when he was sure all those eyes were on him.

 

"Drinkin' and whorin', that was about all my mind was on at the end. I didn't start out that way. I wanted justice for the poor, and the right to work and have decent food and housing for an honest days work. But, back then, such ideas weren't much listened to, nor accepted. My father made sure ideas like that were beat out of me, afraid that I would end up giving away all his land if I inherited it. Until I was too big to beat anymore. By then I was well on the way to being a useless alcoholic, gambler and carouser." Angel said as he strolled nearer to the bed.

 

He noted how all the bodies on the bed tensed as he walk past, Xander leaning over to shield Doyle. He wanted to encourage that action, only not from himself. Rather, from strangers, who were sure to keep coming. Still, it wouldn't do to discourage Xander in this. So Angel ignored the protective move.

 

"Suffice to say, I was a better vampire than I ever was a man. I was young, and I was hungry, and Darla...." Angel laughed, remembering his first sight of his lovely sire. The men on the bed cringed away from that laugh. Angel started pacing. Each man watching him warily.

 

" Ah, Darla was a vampire, a predator. And she taught me everything I knew." Angel stopped when he reached the far wall and turned to face the bed again. He stayed where he was, looking across all that floor space. His eyes locked onto the lustrous green eyes, Doyle's beautiful ones, frightened, wary. Defiant, but not sure of it, not sure he was right to be defiant. Angel saw it. The uncertainty.

 

"I ate my friends, my family. And it wasn't so hard, riding on the anger like I was. You see, to be a vampire you have to start out a little crazy, or you don't survive. I was the ideal Childe for her. I hated everything and everyone I couldn't use." Angel waved a hand in the air. He sighed, well used to admitting to the monster he had been. "Even the wee children. Not my finest moment."

 

"It took me a few years to get over....." Angel looked up at the snort from Xander over that statement. He let himself nod at the werehyena. OK. So....more than a few years. He started again.

 

"It took me a *century and a half* to realize I couldn't do it anymore. Before those gypsies thought they gave me a soul and all that horseshit. They didn't give me a soul, I already had one, never lost it. Angelus had a soul. I had a soul. What I lost was my conscience. Their little spell tumbled me for a loop and gave me time to find it again. Truth was, I was bored with it, all that killing, it wasn't anything anymore, not a thrill, not fun and games. It was just blood and death and such senseless waste ...." Angel swallowed looking onto the distance of his past. "I had had enough far before the gypsy spell. Ye see, there is nothing that says a vampire has to kill to feed. It's just a bad habit."

 

"But Buffy...." It was Riley who brought that up, of course, all puzzled pain in his young voice. Angel threw his head back and counted to ten. Missed the info there, Riley old pal. Buffy. Always Buffy. Angel smirked at the ceiling as he thought how to answer.

 

"Yes. Buffy." He thought about her. She was sweet and fiery and committed to her cause. Also impulsive and dangerous, violent and not overly prone to thinking out solutions. Thank ghod for Giles and Willow. Angel hated to think of the disasters that might have been if not for those two.

 

Buffy had thought she loved and wanted Angel, once upon a time. It had been a long time since anyone wanted him like she did. In a way that put love first and sex second. So good, being loved like that. But it had also hurt. Her and him. He had known it couldn't continue long before the last night. Before the sex they never should have had. Then the gypsy spell had kicked in and shot pain through him to the point of screaming, twisting all his good intentions, all his sense burned out of him. But still she wouldn't let go of him. She, in her way was just as crazy as he had been when he'd been turned. Only she would never have as long as he had to get over it.

 

"What do you think Buffy has to do with this?" Angel asked at last, pinning Riley with his gold flecked eyes. "What does she have to do with me and you or LA and calling me king? What does she have to do with the fact you are mine, your blood is mine, your body is mine, and your life is in my hands?" He waited for more, for any answer they wanted to give, but no one spoke. Too soon for that.

 

Riley's blue eyes were hot, and his jaw was clenched. Graham was watching him calmly, yet as if ready to respond to an attack if need be. Riley manged not to say anything for several minutes. Angel gave him plenty of time, in case Riley would find the courage to talk this early on, then shrugged. Angel came closer to the full bed, saw Graham deliberately lean harder into Riley's side, distracting the angry young man.

 

"What does she have to do with the fact that it was the people you worked for who did this to me and to you and to your friend, to Xander, and to my friend?" The vampire indicated Doyle with his chin. Doyle was his friend and he had not wanted that to be stressed as was now happening.

 

Angel had not the slightest desire to be in the position he was now in. He had made no effort to become powerful in the demon politics that ran Los Angeles. That was the information Riley had to hear, to understand, to accept. The first step to understanding all of it. Angel had not sought this. Not any of it.

 

But Riley was too focused to hear anything except an answer to the question foremost in his mind. That meant Buffy. "Buffy...you loved her, then you lost your soul...."

 

"I loved her." Angel agreed, a growl coloring his tone, frustrated, knowing that he had to answer before Riley would hear anything else. "But we were not meant to be together.....no. She understood it in the end."

 

Riley was looking at him with eyes full of hurt. Pain. As if it was himself Angel was speaking of. As if Angel could not be telling the truth about this. The vampire was curious as to what notions Riley had built for himself, what illusions that were being torn down. Perhaps reasons why Buffy didn't love him as much as she should? Why she had not done as he wanted her to? It could be anything. Enough of this lovelorn meandering. There was far more important business that had to be addressed.

 

"Buffy has nothing to do with why you are speaking out against me in public. Does she?" The silence fell heavy, and Angel saw Riley fighting to stay silent, but his mouth opened, as if to speak. And he could almost feel it was again going to be about Buffy. The vampire let the full weight of his attention fall onto his thrall. Waiting.

 

Graham's hand fastened around his friend's wrist, squeezing tight as Angel watched. Riley letting out an audible gasp at the strength of that hold, then looked over at his grey-eyed fellow soldier. Graham shook his head. Riley pressed his lips together and said nothing. Angel approved.

 

"I did none of the choosing when it came to the three of you, my thralls. That woman who you fought for, who you protected, who you killed for, she chose to do this to me, to you, to Los Angeles. I am simply left with the reality of what she has wrought. Naught but one of you has the temperament of one I would have chosen to take as a thrall." His dark eyes rested for a moment on Graham then moved on as he heard the man's heart pick up a fraction, from a calm fifty beats to maybe a sedate sixty. Still so cool, that one. He smiled. "But you are what I have. And I will make this work. One way or another."

 

"We thought...." Riley began hotly, ready to defend himself and all the soldiers who enabled the Initiative, but Angel held up his hand.

 

"No, Riley Finn. This is not a time for "we" and "they" and "them"...but for "me" and "I" and "you". You made decisions. You supported her. You did her bidding. You have some responsibility then and now. That is not to say I hold you to blame for her actions. She has plenty to answer for." He thought for a while on that, on the moment of time when she would answer for the crimes she committed. Soon, he promised.

 

"So...there is one question I am thinking needs answering here. Just one. A very important one." Doyle's head jerked up when the lilting accent blended into Angel's speech grew stronger. His face went white. Doyle knew Angel well enough to know what that brogue meant.

 

"What am I to you?" It was almost a whisper, but they all heard it. Angel finished with the question, resuming his pacing. "And generous vampire that I am, I will tell ye all the answer. Rather than wait all day for you to give it to me." He stopped in front of them, facing them head on, his eyes gone all golden by now, the anger radiating off of him in waves that were nearly physical in their intensity. His voice rang deep and low for all that it was so quiet.

 

"I am that which fills your belly. I am that which expands your lungs. That slakes your thirst, that gives you life." Angel said, taking that last step that took him to the edge of the large mattress. The whisper slid like dry snakes through the room. "I am all that is standing between you and death."

 

"If I die, if I fail to rule this kingdom forced on me...then there will be no air for you," He covered Graham's mouth with one broad palm, raised the man up off the bed with ease, looked into his eyes, waited until the inevitable panic started to flare in the grey depths, then released him. Lowering him gently to the mattress. Graham sucked in great lungfuls of air.

 

Angel slowly moved in front of Xander, took his chin, fixing the young man with harsh promise in his gaze, "No food." He said, putting fingers over the very nice mouth, holding it closed. Muzzling the werehuman. Meeting Xander's gaze.

 

"No blood." Angel said next. He moved on to the half demon crouched a bit behind Xander. Bent down and made Doyle look at him. He pressed his wrist to Doyle's lips. Let Doyle think about that blood, made it pulse against his mouth, the blood he craved enough to crawl for, then pulled back. Doyle's instinctive movement to keep Angel's wrist in reach halted in mid motion. Angel saw it, acknowledged it, the growing hunger in the smaller man, then moved on without feeding it. Taking a step further. One more step.

 

Stopped before Riley who was trying to frown up at him. Trying to be fierce and unafraid in the face of his master. Angel's hand slid around the tall man's throat and gently, for a vampire, he squeezed, until he felt Riley's pulse fighting to defeat the compression of fingers against flesh. "No life." Riley's eyes rolled wildly in their sockets as the blood was cut off from his brain. not long enough to do damage, just long enough to give him a good scare.

 

Angel stepped back, letting Riley go, shaking him hard, once. Looking at all of them one by one. "Only death. For you, for everyone who is attached to me, any who's name is mentioned in connection with mine, for all who would look to me to help save them. That is what I am to you. To them. I am life."

 

"You think you are ghod." Riley croaked, rubbing his throat over the pinkened skin, marks that would be bruises tomorrow. Shaking his head, his expression holding real fear. His voice roughened. Angel sensed how badly Graham wanted to look at his friend, to examine the marks, but the shorter man fought against it, kept his attention on Angel, only giving in to his need to check on the tall man by letting his hand run up one arm. Silent reassurance.

 

"Of course I am not a ghod! Nor would I strive to be one. But the rest I said is true. I am a king and I must rule. And you by my side and at my back. Or we shall all die together, and many others besides."

 

"I for one, do not wish it to happen that way." Angel let his eyes travel from face to face. "Now, laddies, you have a choice to make here and now. Stand with me as I rule, or...I shall walk over you to my throne. Blood circle or not, I will not let one or two of you kill all the others with your spoutings of high handed ideals in public. If you must speak to me, if you must tell me how wrong I am, do it here in the privacy of these walls, where it does not risk the lives of others faithful to me."

 

"Every word that falls from your lips carries the power of life and death. Think on that as you speak words of defiance, challenge and contempt, think on that when you hurl accusations. Think on it, and know it is not just I who has the potential to take innocent life now, it is you, and you, and you, and you." He pointed to each of them. "With every word you speak."

 

^^^^^^^^

 

The itch was back, Oz scratched at his nape, unable to resist it any longer as Nic pulled him and Spike energetically towards the room where the prisoners were being held. Earlier it hadn't been bad, a quick rub and it had faded, but now...he scratched his head, and his hip, it was definitely worsening.

 

"Hurry!" Nic said urgently. "It might be too late if...."

 

"No need to worry, love." Spike soothed as he let himself be pulled along by his second thrall. His voice held a note of indulgence. Oz normally would have been tickled to hear it, to know how much Spike was growing to care for him and for Nic, but now, Oz couldn't concentrate on anything but the itch.

 

It felt like his skin was trying to crawl off his body. He rubbed and even tried to pinch himself to distract himself from the irritation, but it was no where near enough. He wished he could plunge into a cool bath. That would be heaven, he thought as they reached the door to the room that held Nic's friend.

 

"Sam!" Nic exclaimed as he burst into the room, searching visually and locating the man sitting against the wall. "Get over here." Sam acted like he was going to do just that, get up and hurry to Nic, until he caught sight of the moving guardians in the room.

 

The two vamps were headed Nic's way, until Spike appeared behind the thrall. Then they halted, waiting for an explanation, not about to touch a thrall in the presence of it's master. Vampires had died for less in the European court of Aurelius. Nic also ground to a halt, seeing the vampires within arm's reach. He shivered, wanting to back out of harm's way. But he was here to help a friend. He stood his ground, grateful when Spike's arms stole around his waist, anchoring him.

 

"We've come for the one called Sam." Spike said, severing the tension before it could grow any higher. "Angel's given him to me. You can chose from the others. Alright, mate?"

 

They nodded together, the identical heads. "As the king wishes." One said, the other nodding again. Sam stood up slowly, not sure it wasn't some kind of trick. He hesitantly moved over to Nic's side.

 

Oz wasn't paying much heed to the goings on. He was miserable. Ghod, did he ever want to get his foot up there and have good long scratch...Oz stopped dead in his tracks. He wanted to smack himself. Spike instantly turned from Nic's side, and looked back at him.

 

"What is it, love?" He asked, brow furrowing. Looking for trouble and not seeing it. "Wot's wrong?"

 

Mentally Oz counted back. How many days since the last full moon? Twenty five? Twenty six? More? He usually was as aware of the lunar cycle as any woman keeping track of her periods. But, a lot had happened recently. He'd lost track. How many days? Too many.

 

"The full moon." Oz said it aloud as the answer came to him.

 

"It's daylight, pet." Spike assured him, reflexively looking towards a well curtained window.

 

"Yes, but I can feel the change coming on. Tonight is the full moon, it affects me before and after." Oz answered. Wanting to bite himself for not being more alert.

 

Spike frowned. Great. Now was not the best time for this, but...with the proper safeguards, his Oz would be fine. He only wished he'd had a bit more warning. Well, they'd just have to be careful. Next month they'd plan better, be more prepared. For now he wanted Oz somewhere away from any others.

 

"Nic, grab Sam, and let's get Oz back under lock and key where he is safe." Spike said to his other thrall. Nic who had been gaping at Oz's explanation, snapped out of his daze and grabbed Sam's arm.

 

"Hey!" Sam hissed, protesting the hard grip. Nic hushed him.

 

"I'll explain everything. Promise." The tall, Asian man assured his friend. Sam looked skeptical, but didn't fight as he was dragged along.

 

They barely made it inside before Oz fell to the carpet, Spike inches away, hovering over him as the change surged over the slim body.

 

Nic and Sam stared.

 

"Don't come any closer." Spike warned them, rewarded with two sets of huge eyes and a double shaking of their heads. "Not a chance" was written across both faces.

 

At last Oz lay panting on his side, a werewolf, sandy brown in color, with a tinge of red. Spike stroked a hand down the coarse fur. Not as soft as Oz's human hair by a long stretch. But this was Oz. He was beautiful. Spike's hand wandered, making sure that his beloved thrall was alright, not hurt. Oz tolerated the touch, even licking the vampire's hand when it strayed close to his muzzle. Suddenly, Spike stiffened, shock plain on his face.

 

Spike bent down, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. But looking Oz over again didn't show him he was wrong. He straightened up with a snap, growling. Nic startled, and Sam, the new soldier boy Spike had taken under his wing, jumped back a good foot, hand scrabbling for a gun at his hip, a gun that was not there.

 

"Where the fuck are his balls?" Spike snarled.


	63. Chapter 63

  
Author's notes: Xander, Remus, Romulus and Oz.  


* * *

"Bitches don't need balls." Sam said from where he was plastered up against the wall, trying to become one with the flowery, tea rose wall paper. He immediately regretted saying anything when the pale, white blond vampire turned on him, in full gameface. He let out a whining whimper. "Oh, mother f....!"

 

"The fuck you say?" Spike sent him a furious yellow glare. His hunched shoulders and bristling fangs doing much to telegraph his displeasure and upset with the man's comment. Sam gulped, and Nic cautiously moved between the two of them trying to distract his master. It worked, but only because Spike turned back to the stirring Oz, who was reclining on the bed where the vampire had carried him.

 

"Girl dogs don't need balls." Sam babbled urgently in explanation, wishing he could just shut the hell up, only the need to keep the vampire in his sights kept him from turning and trying to climb the wall itself. Or claw his way through it.

 

"He's not a dog!" Spike shouted. Then petted Oz who had lifted his head and looked around, the exhaustion of the odd change beginning to wear off. The deep yellow eyes blinked, Spike crooned to the dazed werewolf, nonsense words.

 

"My Oz is not a girl anything." Spike hissed at the men standing on the far side of the room, more quietly as Oz started licking himself in the way dogs and other canids were prone to do. Spike was watching that, with a very strange expression on his face.

 

 

Nic was craning his neck trying to see if that statement of his master's was at all true anymore. 'Cause from where he was standing.....Sam appeared to be right. Oz was a bitch. No cock, no balls, no boy dog...uh wolf.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne was amazed all over again by what Fred could do with a computer. Angel had to know this. That doctor they were all so obsessed with had called and engaged in a long talk with one of the senior partners, then an even longer one with a junior partner. Talk about your portents of disaster. That could not mean anything good. So, Angel had to know. And the sooner the better.

 

Lorne left Anders snoring, wondering why the man was still so sleepy, (he hadn't used anything too deep on him when he'd probed his brain), secured comfortably to Fred's bed frame. The four leather cuffs Fred had in her dresser drawer were just perfect for the task. The soft lambswool lining would keep them from chafing Anders' lovely, tanned skin. Lorne licked his lips thinking about that.

 

Fred was still typing furiously away on the keyboard of her laptop when Lorne said he had to get the info they already found to Angel. She'd nodded and said she'd let him know if there was more before he got back. And she'd promised to keep a eye on the soldier boy.

 

So, Lorne took all the notes and headed out, after giving the soldier boy's luscious bum another adoring pat. So....perfectly...lovely. He tucked the blanket around the man carefully smoothing it over the sleekly muscled frame. Lorne had to force himself to leave, his eyes not wanting to abandon the sweet curve of the sleeping man's cheek. Asleep Anders looked about five years old, pink lips parted, soft, long lashes on his cheek, his breath coming slow, warm and even. Lorne shivered. Resolutely straightening his ascot and checking his shirt cuffs he headed down stairs, papers tucked under one arm.

 

His hand was raised to knock on Angel's door when a howl split the air. He froze in place, not liking this at all. Not just one howl, Lorne's head twisted around towards the second and third howls. And a whine from still another direction. From Spike's room. OK, this was not only not good, it was beginning to sound bad, actually.

 

"Uh-oh." His spidey sense was going nuts here. Before he could high tail it up and away...the door to Angel's room opened, just a slit and he was looking into Angel's golden vamp gaze. Lorne opened his mouth, but no words came out before a big pointed nose thrust out lower down, and everything exploded into action.

 

 

^^^^^^^^^^

 

Xander's head snapped up, nostrils flaring, his body tense from head to foot...to tail. Doyle let out a sharp gasp as Graham's grip fastened on the back of his neck and dragged him out of the way as Xander flung himself into the air.

 

Xander was off the bed almost before the change from human to hyena was complete, a hulking beast on a mission, heading towards the door like a man with a purpose, nose raised in a long bellowing howl. Two more howls answered from outside the room. And several sharp yips from next door. Doyle watched it all sprawled, open mouthed hands clapped over his ears, as Riley held him, Graham toppled on both of them. Angel was the only one who chased after Xander.

 

Angel was barely a step behind Xander when the hyena hit the door with his body, hard, then threw himself at it over again when the door didn't fall, huge paws scratching at the wood. Angel shoved him back and opened it, trying to see outside, but Xander's nose wedged itself into the crack and he whipped his body through using all his preternatural muscle to get into the hall.

 

Lorne let out a startled yelp as two hundred pounds of were-something slammed into his legs destroying his balance and launching him and up over the railing, toppling him down towards the floor three stories down.

 

"Oh, shit. Not again!" He said, getting a good look at the tiles well below, from upside down this time.

 

Then a hand fastened onto the front of his pants and sturdy belt, and he was looking up at his bright yellow shoes, and Angel's face between them, blessed savior! The vampire jerking him back onto the landing. Angel tossed him out of the way, safe for the moment, for which Lorne was forever grateful, his hands clutching the carpet, not much caring that all the notes he'd been carrying were now three stories below. The fall wouldn't have killed him, but it would have hurt. Probably a hell of a lot.

 

Angel moved on to the door of the room next to his own , ignoring the happily stunned green demon on the carpet.

 

Lorne blinked. The beast, it had to be Xander he reminded himself, was in a state of some excitement he thought rather diplomatically, noticing the impossible-to-miss arousal bouncing below the furry belly. The were-whatever that had bumped into him like a freight train was scratching at the door with frantically fast paws. Two more huge dogs were just as suddenly bounding down the hall with the same ultimate destination in mind, if Lorne was any judge.

 

Someone was screaming, and for once it wasn't him, though honestly Lorne was seriously thinking about letting out a shriek of his own. The scream, or screams actually, were coming from back down the way the second and third canines had appeared from.

 

Ah, yes. Hyena. Lorne thought. Xander was a hyena. Proud of himself for remembering as he watched the big dogs settle down on the rug, muzzles lowered submissively, and start to growl and whine, restlessly scooting nearer and nearer to Xander, Angel and the door they were attacking, with each passing second.

 

Angel was at the door, now, pounding with his fist as the were-hyena dug at the wood, leaving great gouges.

 

"William!" What the hell is going on in there?" Angel shouted, as Lorne stared at the broad expanse of his back.

 

Inside, Spike was swearing a blue streak. "Bleeding hell!" He yelled back, along with a string of other curses.

 

"Will!" Angel shouted again. And when Spike didn't answer, just kept swearing, Angel roared, "Oz! Nic! One of you open this door!" It was Spike who answered.

 

"Not a good idea, Peaches! A really, really bad idea." Spike yelled back. "Oz has changed, you know the full moon kind of change. Only...there is a problem."

 

"What kind of problem?" Angel sniffed at the air. There was the oddest scent lingering..."What the hell is that smell, William?"

 

"Uh...I think...Oz....is in heat." Spike muttered, and Lorne's eyebrows shot up towards his horns. In heat? But only.....and Oz wasn't was he? Uh, she?

 

"Oz? How can he..." Angel thought about it, looked down at the frantically pawing Xander. A very unlikely thought coming to mind, one that would completely put Xander's behavior into proper perspective. "Uh. What kind of problem are you talking about?"

 

"Well, he's not a he, he's a she. That kind of problem." Spike said almost apologetically and with a note of confusion.

 

"Are you...sure?" Was Angel's reply to that. There were several long beats of silence, then....

 

"Pretty damn sure." Spike said, dryly.

 

"Have you looked..." Angel asked.

 

"Of course I bloody well looked, you damn poof! Yes, he's...she's...taking care of business right now, can't miss a thing." Spike growled.

 

"What?!" Angel asked, sounding confused, unsure.

 

"Licking herself." Spike growled. And Lorne closed his eyes. Didn't need that visual, he really didn't thank you very much.

 

Lorne looked toward a quiet sound to his right, and saw three faces lined up, Doyle's the lowest, then Graham's, and lastly, the highest, Riley's peeking out of the crack of Angel's door. They looked like they had no intention of coming out any further, smart boys, Lorne thought. In fact....he slowly moved towards the sanctuary of Angel's room. Things were just going to heat up out here. Best to be out of the way....

 

"How the...how did that happen?" Angel asked after a pause.

 

Xander tried to slam through the door again, then went back to his scratching after throwing a threatening and assessing glare towards the two crouching wolves, both of whom were still as statues for the instant he looked at them. Then they resumed inching forward when he resumed his attack on the door again, attention diverted. Angel tried to shove the animal aside without much luck. Splinters flew.

 

Lorne kept moving to the side, centimeter by centimeter.

 

Angel's door opened a bit wider, Graham's eyes meeting Lorne's. "Hurry." Was the whispered message. Lorne heard that, loud and clear. He shifted over to his hands and knees, moving as carefully as a bear through molasses.

 

"How the fuck should I know?" Spike snapped through the door irritably in answer to Angel's question. "He changed and I was petting him and I looked down and he hasn't any balls, is how it happened! How I noticed it happened. What is all that racket out there?" Spike demanded as the howling and barking continued.

 

"Xander, Remus and Romulus. Xander is trying to get through the door." Angel answered adding the last unnecessarily. As soon as he said the names Spike had sussed out what was happening.

 

"Bloody hell! Keep your ghod damn hyena offa my Oz!" Spike howled. "I'll rip his sodding dick off if he tries to get on her!"

 

Just then Xander whirled, snarling, launching himself at the two werewolves who had been inching closer and closer to him and the door. Four glowing yellow eyes fixed on the door to Spike's room, as the twins squirmed closer and closer, noses quivering.

 

Lorne squinted. There was a hole in Spike's door. Xander had managed to claw through the heavy wood in the few minutes he'd been at it. Lorne was impressed. A long, delicate, definitely feminine snout was now poking through, sniffing, whimpering. Spike was cursing even louder.

 

Xander sprang on top of the challenging wolves with a furious snarl.

 

"Xander!" Angel yelled at him. And all hell broke loose.

 

Again.


	64. Chapter 64

  
Author's notes: A scuffle, a bath, and a visit.   


* * *

Lorne's leap was far less graceful than Xander's as the demon gained the safety of Angel's room, tumbling ass over tea-kettle. A roiling, spitting ball of fur, teeth and claws rolled by, in the hallway, barking and growling as it did.

 

Lorne lay stretched out flat on his back, panting. Doyle crept up next to him, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder, petting his horns to calm him with his other hand. Lorne grasped the hand thankfully, pulling the small Irishman close, holding on tightly. Waiting for his nerves to settle. Spending time here, in Angel's hotel was clearly not good for his mental health. He needed to get away for a vacation, somewhere quiet, like Beruit.

 

Outside in the hall Angel managed to get a grip on Xander's scruff as the ball rolled past him, using every ounce of his strength, he tore Xander free of the fight. Immediately on being freed from the were-hyena's attack, the two werewolves darted for Spike's damaged door with twin whines of triumph, seeking the delicate, pink nose sticking out of the hole with all the accuracy of laser guided missiles. Xander howled his displeasure, struggling mightily.

 

"Balthazar!" Angel shouted, battling to keep his hold on the squirming, wriggling werehyena. Balthazar appeared within seconds, expression guarded. "Stop them." Angel indicated the wolves pawing at the door.

 

Rears quivering, the werewolves yipped and licked enthusiastically at the pointed muzzle sticking out from the door. Oz whining in return, and giving out his/her own share of licks. Until, with a curse, Spike succeeded in pulling Oz back from the door. When the feminine nose vanished, Remus and Romulus howled and dug at the door, using claws and teeth to try and widen the hole enough to get into the room. Balthazar stepped up behind them, frowning, cold, black eyes going from one to the other, and back again, his mouth pursed as if he was sucking on a bitter lemon.

 

There was a loud crash as Spike threw the headboard of the bed against the door, wedging it there, all the while screaming at the wolves outside to get the fuck away from his Oz. Oz's plaintive whines came from inside the room, seeming to set fire to his/her pursuer's, driving them on to further frenzied efforts. Balthazar dug his finger's deep into the thick fur of the nearest wolf and heaved.

 

Lorne listened as Angel yelled for Balthazar to get control of one of the other lycanthropes, he heard Balthazar's clear distaste as he answered, and the lighter voice of Heri, sounding almost amused. There were a series of disgruntled yelps.

 

The sounds from outside gradually got further away, and barking was replaced by yelling. Spike's curses continued, heard easily through the adjoining wall. Interspersed with the yelps and whimpers from Oz, who obviously wanted a little male attention, the kind he/she was not going to get if Spike had anything to say about it.

 

Lorne cautiously moved to the open door and peeked out. Angel was standing holding Xander-were in his arms. Xander's hind legs kicking, and his forelegs flailing.

 

Balthazar had hold of one of the other wolves, the wolf at arms length from the vampire's body, and Heri, the small vampire from Europe, Angel's fourth thrall, had hold of the final wolf, or at least was riding on top of it. Angel's face was buried deep in the thick fur at Xander's neck, and very slowly Xander's struggles were decreasing, his kicks slowing, then stopping.

 

Balthazar was watching the feeding with a look of utter revulsion on his face. Heri on the other hand watched for a minute, met Angel's eyes and at the ruler's nod, sank his own fangs deep into the wolf that he held. Eventually only the wolf that Balthazar was holding was still fighting to get free.

 

Angel carried Xander into his room, shooting a sharp glance Lorne's way as he did, as if about to object to his presence in these private chambers. But, he refrained. Then he went back out and took the wolf away from Balthazar, feeding off of the creature until it was still and calm, dazed by the after bite euphoria. He was left with a limp armful of vampire snoring loudly. And wondering just what the hell was going on in this hotel. How could vampires suddenly become lycanthropes? It was not possible. Not anymore possible than vampires becoming thralls he reminded himself, shaking his head.

 

He carried Remus back to the room with the frightened soldiers crouched against the wall. They had not tried to escape. Not even one of them. He put the drowsing vampire down in front of the door, just as Heri lay Romu down. Heri then sank to his haunches next to them. His bright, interested eyes traveling over the humans in the room. As a group they all shivered, moving into an even tighter knot of bodies.

 

"Watch them, but do not feed from them nor harm them, my thrall." Angel said, too low for the soldier's to hear. Heri nodded his head once. Angel set a hand on top of his head, half benediction, half warning the other to obey. Then he turned and left.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike had Oz dunked in the warm bathwater and was scrubbing his, uhm...her bottom with scented soap. He ignored the knocking on the rooms outer door. With the bed wedged up against it he wasn't all that worried that anyone would break in before he had Oz washed up.

 

It was Nic who got up and answered the yelling at the door, paling significantly as Angel was the one who he heard order him to open it. Nic and Sam exchanged a look. Sam's teeth nearly chattering.

 

"Hold on!" Nic yelled. "The door is blocked so the others can't get in. I am not sure we should open it." He didn't want to open it. He didn't want to let Angel into these rooms.

 

"They are under control, Oz is safe for now." Was the irritated reply. "Open the door. I won't ask again." The treat was imposssible to miss or to discount. Nic moved toward the bed blocking the door.

 

Nic swallowed hard, and he and Sam fell to shoving at the weighty bedstead. gradually moving it aside enough to open the door a bit. A scowling Angel slipped into the room. Sam stayed fixed where he was on the far side of the bed, crouched down, operating under the code of small creatures everywhere, if I don't move, maybe it won't see me.

 

Angel called out to Spike. He could still taste Xander's fresh, tangy blood on his tongue. He'd had to bite all the were's to get them under control. His belly was uncomfortably full. It made him irritable.

 

"Go away!" Was Spike's snarky response.

 

"What are you doing?" Angel stepped into the washroom. He watched the other vampire giving Oz a bath. The huge wolf sat, docilely enough, but perked up when Angel walked in, sniffing at the air. Probably the lycanthrope blood, Angel realized, grimacing. He preferred his blood from a bag if it had to be non human. He did not like trying to get the fur out of his teeth. He worried at a newly discovered tuft with his tongue, finally managing to spit it out. Yuck.

 

Spike, ignoring Angel, lathered up his hands again and went back to work scrubbing, the foam covering nearly every inch of the wolf by now. Oz licked his lips with tiny flicks of his tongue and endured the layers upon layers of soap as Spike rubbed vigorously everywhere he could reach getting almost as much suds on himself as on Oz. Angel looked at the placid beast, sitting with bubbles stacked on top of his/her head.

 

"William. We need to talk. May I look?" Angel asked his upset Childe, softening his voice to nearly a purr. Spike instinctivly relaxed hearing it. The ridges in his face smoothing out, his body heaving a great sigh. But he retained his scowl for show when he faced his Sire.

 

"Look at what, Sire?" Spike growled, warningly. Angel raised his brows.

 

"I would think that obvious, Will. I want to make sure..." He cast his eyes in the direction of the wolf perched in the tub, heaped white with froth.

 

"*I* am sure. Why do you need to look up his skirts?" Spike grumbled. Angel met his fiery stare with a firm one of his own. Spike sulked, then nodded sharply, hands on the wolf tenderly carressing it with more perfumed soap.

 

"Look then, but no touching. No body's going to touch my sweet, adorable baby." Spike half snarled, half crooned threateningly. He reached out scratching under the wolf's chin through the thick suds. Oz's eyelids fluttered in ecstasy even as his/her eyes rolled in exasperation.

 

Angel choked on a laugh, forcing his face to stay serious and respectful. Spike would never forgive him for laughing out loud.

 

^^^^^^^^

 

"Hello?" The call came from way down below in the lobby. Lorne perked up. That voice was familiar....and associated with good memories somehow. He stole out of Angel's room and to the railing, peeking over. Three tall men stood down there, all with armor strapped to their bodies, and swords sheathed at their sides. One medium brown haired, one slightly darker haired, one blond. All had skin tanned by hours spent outdoors. Pale scars marked their forearms, some pink with newness, others old and white like old, old brands. Big, powerful hands rested on the hilts of their swords with long practiced comfort.

 

"Groosalug!" Lorne exclaimed recognizing the tall champion from Pylea who stood in the center of the trio. He perked up, this was a welcome visitor at last. Not a superior-acting finicky vampire, not a silent and difficult former lawyer with lovely eyes, not a stranger with who-knew-what motives. This was open, honest, and reliable Groo. Lorne wondered who the other men with him were. "What are you doing here, sweetie?"

 

Groo looked way up, beaming his irrepressible smile in the green demon's direction. He waved the fingers of his free hand.

 

"Greetings, Lorne! It has been long since we visited. I have heard rumors that my former princess is getting married. I am here to find out if it is true. I am also here to see if all of you are well. It is good to see you again. Let me introduce you to my Companions. This is Arthur," Groo gestured at the brown haired man on his right. Then he nodded at the blond on his left. "And this is Lancelot. We are traveling Eternal Champions. We have been going between dimensions fighting evil." Groo explained proudly, his strong very, white teeth gleaming. Lorne found himself grinning back.

 

Lorne blinked happily, he wondered just how Groo managed it, making every one around him want to smile back at him like that. "Well...congratulations." He said at last. "You are looking exceptionally pleased with yourself. Have you heard any other rumors? About, say...Angel for example?"

 

Groo nodded his head, his broad and infectious grin lighting up his face, eyes sparkling with joy. "Oh, yes. I have heard that Angel is the new king of LA. And that he needs men of exceptional skill and honor to fight at his side. Tell me, does he have a Champion yet?"

 

"Uh, no, not exactly a Champion, I don't think." Lorne said, as Graham and Riley came up beside him. Doyle was only a step behind the other two, then they were all looking down at the three men looking up. Groo's gaze moved from face to face, smiling.

 

"Hello." He said.

 

"Arthur Pendragon?" Doyle squeaked, in shock, mind flashing back to mythical tales of the British Isles. "Lancelot du Lac? Is this a joke?" The two men named looked up at him solemnly. Their steady gazes said it was anything but. Doyle locked his knees to keep from falling. Riley moved up beside him, face questioning.

 

"No. It is no joke. I am pleased you know my fellow warriors." Groo said goodnaturedly. "I found my Companions traveling in the dimensions of the past. They were most terribly bored sitting around and when I offered to take them with me they agreed at once. We have been fighting evil ever since, small, beautiful, Bracchen demon."

 

Doyle scowled. "I told you before, don't call me that!" He muttered, a bit sourly, his face flushed. Riley put a supporting arm around his shoulders and glared down at the beaming man with the Chesire Cat's grin.

 

Before more could be said, a sound of doors opening on the lowest landing distracted the trio. All of them looked and Groo's face changed from his usual grinning and friendly expression, to astonished and then astounded. His mouth dropped open. Moving as one, the two men standing next to him put out steadying hands, cupping his elbows. The dark haired one cleared his throat and spoke in a very deep voice.

 

"Tristan, Alistair, brother knights, it is good to meet with you once more."

 

"Ohhhhhh," Groosalug sighed, expression rapt, eyes fixed on one of the people who had stepped out from the room below. Beside him Arthur then Lancelot each went to one knee, smooth with centuries of practice, capes tossed back, long hair streaming back from high brows, fists placed over their hearts.

 

"Fair lady," Lancelot said.

 

"My lady." Arthur agreed.

 

"Oh, I say!" A strongly British accented voice breathed reverently from down there on the second floor.

 

"Gahhhh." Groo said, inarticulately, gaze still captured by the vision standing erect and noble on the second floor landing.

 

"What is going on?" Angel asked. He seemed to be asking that a lot lately. It could stop any time as far as he was concerned.

 

Lorne shrieked, nearly jumping out of his skin when Angel spoke right next to his ear, breath feathering along his cheek. He had been leaning way, way over the railing, craning his long neck, trying to see who was down there drawing all Groo's attention and failing to see anything. Lorne pressed his hand to his chest over his pounding first heart. "For ghod's sake Angelcakes don't DO that!" He gasped, fanning his face.

 

"Now what?" Angel asked as he leaned over the rail himself to look down and see. "Groo?" The vampire king asked in surprise, recognizing the man. "Groo, what are you doing here?"

 

Groo turned dazzled, dark eyes upwards, his thousand watt smile returning for an instant. "Oh, hi, Angel. I am here to be your Champion." He announced with absolute certainty, then his eyes were drawn back down to stare at the people grouped lower. His mouth fell open. Stunned, again.

 

"Who is he looking at?" Angel wondered aloud. Lorne shook his head.

 

"Sweetie-pie, I have no idea. But I really, really want to find out." Lorne admitted. He'd heard the knights speak to a "lady", maybe Buffy(he was pretty sure Fred was still up in her room), and they had also mentioned both Alistair and Tristan. Then there was the man, was it Giles?, who had spoken. He *hoped* Fred wasn't down there. Because if she was Mr Chivalrous numbers one and two were going to have a real fight on their hands before Lorne let them near her, *his* Freddikins.

 

Angel turned to Graham, Riley and Doyle. "You three, watch Xander, any trouble you yell for me. Lock the door and don't open it for anyone else." Then he turned back to Lorne. "Let's go find out." He suggested. Lorne nodded eagerly, glad Angel hadn't tried to tell *him* to stay put.


	65. Chapter 65

  
Author's notes: Heri gets bored. Groo, Arthur and Lance get sorted out. Sort of.  


* * *

Heri rolled onto his back, experimentally placing the heels of his bare feet up against the wallpaper and crossing his ankles. He tried wiggling his toes, watching the pink appendages move in unison. Not terribly exciting.

 

He should have brought Kon with him. But Kon was watching their new boy toy, soon to be Heri's second thrall. A luscious, dark chocolate morsel. Heri, licked his lips. Absolutely yummy. But...now he was alone and bored. Well not alone, precisely. Not if you counted humans and snoring vampires.

 

He looked off to the left and trailed his hand out that way to run a finger down the stuporous vampire's flank. He took his time, watching the gooseflesh rise in the wake of his finger. Whichever one it was stirred, mumbling nonsense before drifting back to whatever dream place he'd been. Heri debated on whether to pinch him. Frowned, looked elsewhere for more of a diversion.

 

Heri rolled his head to the other side. This vampire/werewolf was a bit closer, he flopped a hand out grabbed an arm and tugged the inert body nearer. It came easily enough. He buried his nose in the slightly damp hair behind one ear. He sniffed, allowing his eyes to close. Nice, rich, heady smell. But not as familiar as it had once been. Heri sniffed again. Well it wasn't a bad smell, just not what he was used to.

 

Yes, the scent was definitely different. Heri had been at court for decades with these two brothers. And they had always smelled first like each other, and second like vampires. Now, they smelled different than before. There was an earthiness that was brand new. A subtle musk that said wolf as clearly as the underlying basal scent said vampire. He wondered idly if they still would be indistinguishable from each other.

 

He drew in a great whiff, then pulled away, pushing off the wall, flipping head over heels, wriggling towards the vampire who was a bit further off. He sniffed that one, hair drier here, and there was a tang of blood, and of Angelus, but under that, this one smelled exactly like the other. Heri sighed. So, no clue. He growled. The quiescent vampire never stirred.

 

Then Heri licked a broad stripe down over the other's adam's apple, into the hollow at the base of the throat. The flavor exploded over his taste buds. "Ahhhhhhhh." Escaped him as he lolled back onto his back, smacking his lips. *That* was Romu. For all they smelled alike, Heri had always been able to taste the difference. He let the smile grow and spread across his face. Yummy. He liked the new flavor.

 

He dragged himself up and over to Remy, pushing the vamp onto his belly, with a general flopping of limbs, then climbing to lay on top of him. Nice. He burrowed his cheek in against the curve of Remy's shoulder, blinking lazy eyes, as he settled his groin over the larger vamp's nicely shaped rump, very spongy, firm, comfy. He hunched his hips closer. Hmmmm. He was so sleepy, and a bit bored. He wondered how long it would be before the twins woke and could take over the guard duty again.

 

Lazily he let his half closed eyes drift over the men huddled along the wall. They looked so uncomfortable. Not a millimeter of wall showed between any of them. They were packed in like a tin of sardines. He yawned. Showing them his tidy fangs. No screams, no yells. No entertainment at all. He sighed.

 

"Welcome one and all the the fabulous American Court of Angelus dei Aurelius." He muttered in an overly bright voice. He waved an arm in the air. None of them laughed. Not much fun now, were they? Just sitting there watching him like cornered kittens. He liked his prey feisty.

 

"Oh, relax, will you? It's not like I am going to eat you or anything. Silly buggers. He as much as told me I couldn't." He sneered at them. When they didn't respond or relax, he snorted, licking the last, lingering dregs of Romu's taste off his lips. "Yeah, well, do as you like. I am going to catch a nap."

 

And he proceeded to do just that.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne came close to skipping down the stairs in his eagerness to see just who was the recipient of all those longing, worshiping gazes from Groo. Angel followed him at a slightly more controlled rate.

 

Lorne rose to his tip toes, craned his neck, twisting his head like a giraffe, and saw....Buffy, Giles, Gunn with the feathery outline of Tristan floating over him again, and Alistair. Lorne glanced back at Groo, attempting to fix which one of them the man was staring at. It looked like....maybe...it could be...Buffy...or...Giles...or Gunn, or Alistair. Lorne huffed in frustration. Damn. Angel just looked at him with a small, droll quirk of his mouth. Lorne regally ignored him.

 

Lorne skittered down the remaining steps waving at the four standing on the second floor. "Come, come on down, come meet them, wouldn't you like to meet them?" He urged, gesturing with both hands, and was not at all surprised when the older man, Giles it was, scurried for the stairs leading down, his face as excited as a schoolboy's.

 

"Well naturally it would be an honor," The watcher gushed. "Such an honor. I never imagined I would have the opportunity....I mean, King Arthur, and Lancelot..." He was beaming, actually beating Lorne down the steps by several long strides, and Lorne watched closely. Groo's eyes flicked once to Giles, then back to the slower moving group on the landing, Buffy, Alistair and Gunn, who were heading to the stairs. Sooooooo, Lorne surmised, not Giles then.

 

He managed to casually and innocently as you please, get between Gunn and Buffy, forcing Gunn to go down first with his faint shadow hovering around him like ghostly lace, and leaving Buffy to walk with Alistair. Groo's big, wondering eyes didn't even glance in Gunn's direction. Lorne's nostrils flared as he sensed victory. Only two possibilities left. He nearly danced with glee.

 

Always the gentleman, Lorne put a hand at Buffy's back gently guiding her forward towards her watcher, and away from Alistair. He glanced up, twinkling, red eyes eager to see....Groo being introduced to Giles, and the watcher pumping Groo's hand for all it was worth, beaming at him, and Groo naturally diverted by that much enthusiasm, not looking at anyone else. Lorne almost howled his impatience.

 

But, the green demon was alert enough to step quickly up to block Alistair's move to join Gunn and Buffy next to Angel. Alistair looked at him, and Lorne fished up his biggest innocent look, plastering it on his face. As if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. Alistair stared back impassive, and Lorne felt a shiver run up his spine. Just what was it worth to him to know who Groo was staring at? He stepped reluctantly out of the way, letting his eyes dart over to Groo one last time, just in case....

 

And he found Groo's eyes staring straight back at the blond. The big blond. The male. Alistair. With all the wonder and fascination possible for his handsome face to hold. Even more than he'd looked at his adored princess with in the first hot and heavy days of that budding and doomed romance.

 

Lorne almost lost it, just holding back his snort of triumph. He should have known it was *hero* worship to bring that look to Groo's eyes. And maybe a bit more. Lorne wondered if Gunn would approve.

 

As much as the Champion from Pylea had been taken with Cordelia, his princess, he had the strength to leave her and return to his personal battle, the fight against evil, when he had to. Groo was quite a bit of competition. Lorne hoped Gunn would not have to fight for Alistair. Surely Alistair was the faithful type?

 

"My lady," Arthur was saying, bowing in the direction of the girl. "I am honored to meet you and your...Watcher? You are one of the Slayers we have heard so much of?"

 

"Yes, yes she is, the best, absolutely the best, sir, uh sire." Giles was saying enthusiastically, putting an arm around the small girl.

 

"I, too, am honored to meet you, lady." Lancelot said, offering his own sweeping bow. Buffy scowled out at them, her hair a tangled rat's nest from her restless, unplanned nap.

 

"Who are you and what do you want?" She asked petulantly. Giles patted her.

 

"Why King Arthur and Lancelot, of the Knights of the Round Table." Giles explained patiently, face alight.

 

"Who?" Buffy asked again, more crossly. She sniffled, loudly.

 

Giles colored with mortification. "I am afraid modern educational standards aren't...." he began, and Arthur nodded forgivingly.

 

"Much time has passed." Lancelot offered the olive branch, mildly. Then Arthur took over.

 

"A Slayer. It is neither the greatest of the wonders we have encountered, nor is it the least we have found in our travels. To find a lady so fair who battles evil, who fights for good...but where are your knights? Who fights by your side? Such a lady should not fight alone." Arthur said, looking down on the tiny rumpled figure of Buffy sniffling ever more crossly in Giles' arms.

 

The watcher stroked her blonde bed-hair, and let her wipe her dripping nose on his shirt. He winced at the action, but said nothing. Lorne recoiled, taking care not to inadvertently drift close enough for the girl to touch *him*. Ewwwww. Fortunately Fred had no such nasty habits.

 

"She had friends, *we* had friends who fought with us, but...they are gone now, all of them, in one way or another." Giles said firmly, Buffy sobbed, and he patted her. She dribbled more onto his borrowed shirt. Wesley was going to have to burn it if he ever got it back, Lorne thought.

 

"Riley and Angel, and Xander, and Willow, and Tara, and Dawn, and Jenny, and...." She wailed. As Giles tried to soothe her. He patted her.

 

The two knights looked over at Angel who calmly looked back. They looked over to Groo then. But Groo was still mesmerized by Alistair. They looked at each other, then Arthur shrugged his very broad shoulders.

 

"A king must go where he is called. And take his knights from where he can." Arthur said in understanding, picking up that Buffy somehow blamed Angel for the absence of her friends and fellow combatants.

 

"He took my Riley and my Xander, the scoobies...." Buffy wailed, louder. Everyone winced at the piercing whine. It took several minutes for their hearing to recover, then Arthur dared speak.

 

"Scoobies?" Arthur said trying out the odd word. "This, I do not understand. What is a scooby?" Lancelot shook his head, also at a loss.

 

Giles cleared his throat. "Merely a name for the friends who fought by our side." He said firmly. "As for Xander and Riley...."

 

"They are my thralls." Angel said, his voice toneless, his dark gaze fixed on the men listening. Not wanting to go into a long and painful dissection of Buffy's grievance here and now, in essentially public, again.

 

"Thralls?" Lancelot asked. Arthur also raised a brow.

 

"They are bound to him." Giles hastily clarified when Buffy opened her mouth sucking in air. Giles had no desire to listen to her wail her woes again, he patted her. She wiped her nose on his shirt, he quivered a bit but managed not to instantly rip it off and throw it away. If the shirt was gone...that would leave only his bare skin to take on the drippings of her nose.

 

Arthur and Lance nodded. "There is nothing to be done about that, once fealty is sworn, a knight must cleave to his lord." Lance said with authority. Buffy shrieked, sobbing. The half dozen adult males in the room cringed.

 

"Fair lady," Lancelot said, with desperate kindness. "No need to weep any longer. Surely this is the quest for which we have been brought here, Arthur and I. To be your knights and fight by your side." Lorne stared at the man, aghast. Angel let out an amused chuckle, quiet enough to be lost in the rest of the room's sudden murmuring noise.

 

Buffy hiccuped, her gaze raking the tall man head to foot. Impressively muscular, handsome, a warrior, she looked at his hands, large, capable, then transferred her gaze to the man next to him. Just as big and just as dreamily hot. She blew her nose on Giles' shirt tail. Smoothing her rampant hair into a vague sort of disorder. Hmmmm. Did they mean what she thought they meant? She deliberately advanced on them, eyes narrowed in specualtion.

 

Giles looked down at his sopping, gelatinous hem with an expression of resigned horror, holding it away from his skin with two fingers.

 

Lorne watched the other man with sympathy and disgust. He took a big step back. Just...yech. Well so much for good breeding.... Wesley surely could not refuse the man a second spare shirt, not under these *extreme* circumstances. Lorne shook his head. It was simply...unthinkable to refuse.

 

In fact...Lorne removed his own jacket, handing it to Angel who accepted it with raised brows. Lorne unbuttoned his silk shirt. If he was truly a gentleman he'd offer the silk to the watcher, but there were lines to be drawn here, in light of the...habits of Giles' charge. Instead, Lorne removed his undershirt, and handed it to the other man. Putting his own silk button-down back on.

 

Giles stared at the miles of green chest revealed before it was covered up, then forced himself to concentrate. Quickly he slid out of the soaked cotton, and looked for a place to put it, Angel shook his head so firmly that Giles merely turned to Lorne, finally meeting Lorne's horrified gaze. Lorne pulled on his silk shirt and buttoned it, then he crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Absolutely not.

 

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and Giles turned towards Groo. Who had a long knife extended in the watcher's direction. Giles jumped in alarm, nearly dropping both shirts.Then Groo gestured towards the ruined shirt with the point of his blade. And Giles understood. Gingerly Giles hung the shirt over the tip of the knife. Groo, familiar with the layout of the hotel, bravely and swiftly headed for the kitchen. He moved quickly to the kitchen and disposed of the garment in the rubbish bin.

 

Giles in the mean time had pulled Lorne's undershirt on. It hung on him like a grade school child wearing an older brother's shirt when the latter returned from college. But it was dry and clean. It was perfect.

 

Buffy for her part, had gone over to Lance and Arthur and was examining them. Big. Lovely. Strong. She licked her lips. Patted one solid haunch, eliciting a surprised grunt. Very strong. Solid. She eyed them with growing speculation.

 

"Let me get this straight." She said, hands on hips, head tilted back to stare up at them. "You two want to come back to Sunnydale and fight with me?"


	66. Chapter 66

  
Author's notes: Doyle's lament, Wesely is kidnapped, Balthazar agonizes.....  


* * *

Doyle grit his teeth as the shaking shivers took over his slim body. He wrapped his arms more tightly around his bent knees, and burrowed himself further into the shadows of the night garden. No one came out here often, he was as safe from discovery as he could be this close to the hotel. He had fled from inside the moment he felt the hunger begin to rise. He could hardly think beyond the pounding need for Angel's blood. It was driving him mad.

 

This time he was determined to ride the cravings out. The aching cramps, the flight of ideas that made every train of thought converge on one thing, Angel's blood. He was done being a prisoner to such things. He was going to tough it out. He knew he could do it. He had no illusions that it would be easy. But, he'd done things as hard in the past. He would stay out here and finish it, one way or the other. He would not be tied to the vampire. He would not allow himself to be addicted to anything.

 

Well.... Alcohol was one thing, that was almost a tradition, the Irish had earned that reputation after all, and it was a thing he was almost proud of, silly as it was. So, alcohol, he didn't mind that so much, he could always dry out at some drug treatment facility if he wanted to get off the juice, but he would not live his life needing blood, Angel's blood, to survive. Following behind the vampire, tongue out waiting for his ration. Trading what for it? Doyle shook his head, shivering miserably. No way.

 

Nothing in his life had going right this year. And the worst had come last. He had lost his princess. His heart ached over that. Cordelia had never acknowledged him to the world, had never told anyone they were together. Unlike the crowing announcement of her engagement to the Grimm. He had failed her, not being the man she needed. Perhaps if he had not hidden his demon half at first, then she might have wanted him....But how could he have known she would even consider a demon as a lover?

 

He shook his head. That was just pathetic. Of course she didn't want him. He was not rich, and powerful with seven individual selves to keep her happy, always some part of the Grimm could be at her beck and call. Shower her with the attention she needed.

 

He was a weak, skinny, half Bracchen demon, with only mild powers as those things went. He could take a good punch and hold his own in a reasonable fight. But he was not a political mover and shaker, he could not dress her in diamonds, designer dresses and Italian shoes. It was no wonder she'd hid him from everyone, even their shared friends.

 

He sighed miserably as another chill washed over him, rattling his very bones. His belly ached. His vision blurring then sharpening, before repeating the cycle with stomach wrenching results.

 

And Angel. Aside from Wes, Angel was his best friend. Doyle wasn't sure if he'd call Wes his best friend or Angel if it came down to it. Suffice to say, he loved both men with everything he was. He'd die to protect them. They'd do the same for him. But...how could he adjust to this? To wanting to be near Angel with a level of obsession that made his fists clench and heart race if anyone came near his....husband?

 

Now that was just weird. Francis Allen Doyle with a husband. He'd been married before, to a woman, and that had been good for a while. And he'd had women by the handful, in relationships that had not lasted. He'd fallen for the devastatingly beautiful Cordelia, and now he'd lost her. Only to find himself exactly where he'd never even imagined on his drunkest night. With a vampire and a king for a husband, craving said spouse's blood almost more than he craved oxygen. And he had nothing to offer in return.

 

Angel swore he would never deny Doyle blood. And he had kept his word. But Doyle would not sponge off his friend. Not take and take without Angel getting something in return. But. What did he have that the king of LA needed? That he couldn't get in abundance elsewhere? Nothing. That was what.

 

Thralls, Angel had them. For blood and sex. He had followers, and friends. And other vampires, and demons and humans. He had lycanthropes. He had a Champion now, if what Doyle had overheard Groo say was true. Angel had everything. Including a Consort who offered him nothing, was just a stone around his neck.

 

The one thing a consort was supposed to offer, a heir, it was beyond Doyle's ability to give. He hadn't the right equipment. Come to that, the idea of sex with another man...well Doyle would have tried to do it, even fearing it as he did, if there had been a point. But even that, Angel had in abundance. He didn't need any more of it from an unskilled man/demon, small and skinny, and scared out of his wits by the mere possibility of a male of any kind between his lily white legs. So he had nothing to give. And Doyle refused to be something that dragged Angel down.

 

Unbidden his hand stole down to his belly, to rest over the hand print Angel had left. He was marked. A possession. Like livestock on his uncle's farm. How much more appropriate if the vampire had simply placed it on his flank or his hip instead. A brand showing his worth. It made no sense how much Doyle valued that mark secretly. How often he touched it. Though never when anyone else might see him. He so wanted to belong. To Angel. But he needed a reason, he needed to have something to give back.

 

Doyle almost groaned with his helplessness. He couldn't do anything right. But. That was going to stop here and now. This time he was going to show everyone he had what it took to be his own man. And then he'd make himself into an asset to Angel. After that, he could ask to belong. When he deserved to be able to ask.

 

He shivered, harder, longer. Rigors ripping through his limbs and trunk. His teeth chattered together violently. Oh, fuck. That hurt. He thought he was going to throw up, and in fact was leaning over to do just that when he saw a flicker of movement at the gate enclosing the hotel's mini garden. His eyes were playing tricks. He blinked as he saw a man in dark clothes steal up the stairs. His vision faded in and out.

 

Utterly soundless, faceless. visible one instant, then nothing more than a shadow along the far wall. Doyle swallowed down the rising bile. It was important, his befuddled brain insisted. Watch, wait, observe. It was vital....but he couldn't remember why. He wondered how long he'd be hallucinating. Truth be told, he preferred it to the nausea and vomiting. He crouched in his corner, and shivered miserably while other shadows came and melted into the first. Until they became big and dark and unmoving, their presence sitting on his chest, like a weight as he watched them, tried to see them, from his fetal position.

 

'I am hallucinating,' Doyle told himself, as more shadows converged melting in and out of the darkness around the night garden. But at least it distracted him from his queasy stomach. He lay, wondering when the shadows would fade to nothing, wondering when he would have to give in and throw up the contents of his empty stomach. His head dropped back against the gritty cold stone of the enclosed garden wall. He rubbed his face into the stone dust, it cut him sharply, the pain, sharper and cleaner than the roiling in his belly. Much preferred.

 

Then the door to the hotel opened and a moderately tall figure stepped out. Doyle recognized Wesley as the Brit stepped out inhaling deeply of the night air. A Wesley that grew impossibly tall, then shrank impossibly small as Doyle's perceptions waxed and waned. He could smell the anger coming off the man in waves.

 

Wesley was muttering angrily under his breath. Doyle heard the words sporadically. "Zar" and "bastard" and "bloody fool", as Wesley stalked past, never seeing him. Heading to the gate. He walked straight over to the shadows...his outline faltering, as Doyle blinked, blearily, and disappeared into them.

 

Doyle jumped at the yelp that followed. Noise. There hadn't been noise in the dream before. He waited, holding his own breath, listening hard. But that was all he heard. The shadows simply faded away, drifting out through the gate, and were gone, like smoke. Taking Wesley with them. Doyle wondered what had made him imagine that. And he was left shivering, nauseous and utterly miserable. He curled tighter around himself, alone in his misery, until the doors crashed open and a tall, dark avenger slammed out into the courtyard.

 

Balthazar fixed on Doyle instantly, his preternatural sight and hearing, as well as his nose leading him to Doyle. Doyle looked up at him, tears streaming down his face.

 

The scrawny creature was ill. Balthazar was tempted to leave it where it was. But...it belonged to the master, and Angel, his king, would not be happy with him if he did not take it in. He moved closer to the soiled figure of the consort. His lips curled in disgust. It stank.

 

"Wes?" Doyle slurred, sounding drunk, but not. The one thing he didn't smell of was alcohol. Balthazar froze. He had come out here looking for his disobedient thrall, assuming when he saw Doyle that Wes had not come this way after all. Wesley felt great affection for the small thing, and he surely would have stopped to give it aid. The thought that he had not raised hair on the back of the vampire's neck. Something was wrong... Something had happened to Wesley. Had this creature seen him?

 

"Where is Wesley? Where is my thrall?" Balthazar growled, suddenly knowing the demon had information he needed to know. Now, without delay. He shook the small male, until his head rolled side to side and Doyle vomited weakly on the stones at the vampire's feet.

 

Balthazar waited impatiently for the spewing to end, then he gripped Doyle's face in his hand. Doyle stared up at him. Too out of it to answer questions, his eyes rolling like marbles in his head. Shivering like an addict.

 

"He went with the shadows." Doyle said at last. Then he bent to the side and vomited again. Managing to get most of it on Balthazar's shoes as the vampire stood frozen in agonizing shock.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Angel carried Doyle into the room and lay him gently on his side. Balthazar had come in from the garden carrying the half conscious man, a whirlwind of fury. Angel,seeing him, had almost allowed himself to think the worst. That Doyle was dead. He'd even flashed on the possibility that Balthazar had killed him.

 

Angel's fangs had dropped with lightning quickness, and his face had changed, bringing the dark vampire to a hasty halt, and down onto his knees, even as he was caught up in his own frantic rage of worry over the fate of his thrall. Balthazar still was not fool enough to underestimate the risk of angering his master. His knees thumped to the tiles.

 

To beg for leniency, Angel thought, a growl rising in his chest, his hands doubling into fists at the sight of Balthazar's hands on one of Angel's own. He needed Balthazar, but he did not trust him. Most especially, he did not trust him with thralls or consort. And he had been right it seemed, not to give that trust. Doyle filled the dark clothed arms, limp, barely breathing....

 

Balthazar's terse words had cut off that train of thought. As the black eyes looked up into Angel's.

 

"Wesley has been kidnapped." The dark vampire said, icy cold fury sparking from his dead-black eyes. "Your...consort saw it, but he isn't able to say much else." The other vampire's lip curled, letting Angel see his rage. Angel knew that if he could get away with it, Balthazar would have dumped Doyle onto the hard floor without a thought for his health or injury, and beaten out of him what he had seen.

 

"Doyle?" Groo asked, coming across the lobby, dressed now in a pair of Angel's jeans and a t shirt, as he and Giles both moved to Doyle's side. Groo smoothed the lank locks of hair off of Doyle's damp forehead. Doyle moaned at the touch. Groo made to take Doyle from Balthazar, persisting even when the dark vampire growled at him.

 

"He is ill. What is wrong with him?" Giles asked as he examined the limp body. Groo gathered the small body up into his arms, Balthazar showing him long fangs, threatening, which raised Groo's eyebrows a bit. "Where shall I put him?" Groo asked Angel as Angel stood looking down at Balthazar.

 

"Why do you think Wesley is in trouble?" Angel asked, letting his gameface fade into the human guise. He trailed his fingertips over the soft, springy curls.

 

The dark eyes traveled to Angel's face and went as blank as they ever did, the rage at Groo melting away. "He is in need." Was all he said, though his tone leveled mountains of criticism. Zar was not speaking about Wes, he was referring to Doyle.

 

"If you feed him, he will be able to tell us what he saw." His unspoken accusation, that Angel should have known, should have fed the consort, and if he had, Wesley would not be gone. Illogical as it was. Angel straightened up.

 

Angel accepted that reminder. He had not offered Doyle blood in too long. He had overlooked what should not be overlooked. While his thralls could go a bit longer than a day, his Consort, his friend, very clearly could not. He had deserved it, that bitter admonishment in the tone of his subordinant vampire. He stepped up and took Doyle from Groo's arms. "What did you say about Wesley?"

 

"I have been looking for him. He disagreed with something I said." Balthazar's generous mouth thinned and compressed. "He left the room. I let him go. Then when he did not return...I sought him. I trailed him to the courtyard garden. Doyle was there. He said the shadows took him. Took Wesley." Zar waited, and saw the instantaneous realization of what that probably meant.

 

"The shadows?" Lorne said, looking up from his seat on the tiles. The stack of papers he'd been collecting and trying to sort filling his lap. "Are you sure that he meant Wesley was kidnapped?"

 

"Wolfram and Hart." Angel rumbled, fury starting to fill his belly. For all Lorne doubted and sought proof, Angel did not.

 

"Feed him...master." Balthazar came close to ordering. "Feed him and ask him who took my thrall." The snarl was bestial. Angel answered it with one of his own, but mild and distracted, just enough to remind the other to keep a civil fang in his head. He moved to the couch in the center of the lobby, gently laying Doyle down, then ripped open his own flesh with sharp, pointed fangs.

 

The blood fell in a cascade over the pale face, and into Doyle's slack mouth. Filling it, running between the soft pink lips, until Doyle coughed, flailing an arm, finding Angel's wrist and holding on, drinking in deep, trembling swallows. His moans coming through the feeding, through the convulsive gulps. Even to moan, Doyle would not let go of the lifeline he was drinking from.

 

"Ask him. Ask him." Zar demanded harshly, scooting forward on his knees. "You have fed your little junkie enough. We need to find Wesley now. Ask him what he saw." His eyes blazed forbidding gold, his nostrils flaring at the scent of the blood he desired with the same intensity he did that of his thrall. The master's blood, the elixir, he licked his lips again, snarled, fangs lengthening, sharpening, his face furrowing, his hands clawing up to Angel's thighs.

 

The sound of Groo's sword being drawn from it's leather sheath was loud. And largely ignored. Angel pulled his wrist from Doyle's mouth as Doyle gasped for breath, his hunger assuaged. Balthazar whined, his eyes fixed like two burning lasers on the dripping limb Angel held out.

 

"Just lick the wounds closed, no sucking." He hissed as Balthazar pounced on his arm, gripping hard and forcing fresh blood out in a gout of red. "You grow both bold and reckless, vampire." The king said, his eyes glowing crimson and gold. "Have I left too much blood in your veins? Enough that is nothing to you to disobey?"

 

Balthazar let out a tortured groan, his tongue flicking, cleaning the ivory flesh of every spilled drop, his eyes dropping to the splashes on Angel's feet, the tiles. He fell down, his tongue not stopping when he met tiles instead of flesh, the blood too precious for him to reject, even spilled on the floor.

 

Angel sat, watched. Then Balthazar managed to lift his head, the blood cleaned away, each minute bit taken into the vampire's mouth, and savored. Balthazar's black eyes met his, the supple tongue licking the last taste from his mouth as Angel observed. Worry crawled back over the fine features.

 

"Master! My thrall!" Balthazar begged in reminder, as he lowered himself to the ground in front of Angel, graceful for all the unwillingness in the action. "My thrall." He whispered again. Angel's rage faded to nothing. Wesley was also his. And someone had dared take him. They would pay.

 

"Doyle." He called. "Doyle." The Consort's eyes opened. And filled with tears. Tears that scored crooked paths through the blood drying on his face.


	67. Chapter 67

  
Author's notes: Preparations for the fight.  


* * *

Angel tore through the hotel, a vampire in a rage.

 

Doyle's statement made it abundantly clear Wesley had indeed been taken. There was only one way to respond to the challenge to his kingship, to the raw gall that had allowed someone to steal one of Angel's inner circle. His first challenge.

 

His fearsome grin was not pretty. If he had his way this kind of act would not be one repeated. He would drown the attackers in blood. Wade through it. They would never dare to move against him again, and the rumors of it....His cruelly satisfied smile grew. No one else would want to risk it either.

 

The unhappy Doyle was now tucked in with Graham, Riley and a very hyper-vigilant Xander, being coddled and cushioned, his tears being dried, or in Xander's case, licked away. He was warm and safe. Angel could leave him in the care of his thralls to deal with the more urgent and pressing matter of Balthazar and the missing Wesley.

 

The kidnapping had forced Angel's hand, and he was not happy about it. Doyle, his unclaimed consort, needed care and his personal attention, wracked by uncertainties Angel should have dealt with long ago. He should have made the time for it. Doyle was in no shape to make his own decisions about what he wanted or needed. Angel berated himself for not seeing it sooner. But now, Angel was being dragged forcibly in another direction. And he could do nothing about Doyle until later.

 

Balthazar held the door to his suite open, letting Angel go in first. At the first sound of the door opening, Lindsey looked up from the chair he had been seated in. He'd been leafing through a sheaf of papers Wesley had left on the table when he stormed out. Seeing Angel, and taking in the expression on the vampire's face, Lindsey pushed the papers aside. He waited, feeling a faint tinge of nerves shiver though his skin.

 

The vampire king wasted no time. He stepped up to the man and sat next to him. Lindsey's large, hazel eyes met his. Angel took a moment to look into them to see if Lindsey had the strength and the will to be here, and to do what Angel was going to ask of him. The gaze that was returned was steady and unflinching. Lindsey had not endured years of being a junior partner at Wolfram and Hart, and actually surviving it, by being weak.

 

"Wesley has been kidnapped." Angel said, keeping his voice soft. He didn't know why he did not want to be blunt, except he knew Wes and Lindsey had formed a odd friendship, one they had kept secret from nearly everyone. But being blunt was the only way to give news like this. Lindsey cared about Wesley, every bit as much as Wesley cared about him. Angel waited for the information to sink in.

 

Lindsey didn't try to hide his surprise. "He was here not half an hour ago. Are you sure?" His eyes flicked up to the dark man standing farther away. "They fought, argued, he.." Lindsey inclined his head at Balthazar, "...shook him, and Wesley left. He was angry. When he has calmed down....he'll be back." He stopped.

 

"Yes. He will be back. But we will have to go get him for that to happen." Angel answered, laying his hand over the other's. Balthazar coming further into the room behind him, a glowering shadow in the background of Angel's and Lindsey's conversation.

 

The door was closed with an echoing, final click, and Balthazar leaned against it, face averted. He was beautiful, Angel thought and stupid. Foolish. He did not understand how to handle a man, a human like Wesley. He thought he could be as he'd always been, arrogant, high-handed, and Wesley would fall in line. Zar had miscalculated. But clearly, he was falling for his thrall.

 

Wesley, who was stubborn and honorable, and would stand up for what he believed was right, no matter the consequences. Wesley, who no matter how in love or lust he was, would still demand to be treated better than Balthazar was treating him. Balthazar who was fighting tooth and nail not to admit how he felt for Wesley. Angel kept his sigh internal. He was going to make sure the two of them had another chance to get it right.

 

"I had meant to give you more time. But there is none. Wesley and Balthazar are newly bonded, they can not endure being apart for long. I would like to bond you to Balthazar, and give him more time and control than he will have if he relies only on his bond to Wesley. I need him to be able to fight." Angel said. He paused waiting for whatever response Lindsey had.

 

Lindsey looked at the vampire still pressed to the door. The long, elegant lines of his body, his handsome face, his dark, rich skin. He was appealing. He was angry, conflicted, dangerous, his dissatisfaction crackling around him like electric arcs. He was difficult, even barely having met him, Lindsey could see that well. And no one who looked close would miss the lines of strain around his eyes. Signs that had not been there when Wesley was near, not even when they had argued.

 

Balthazar was not Lindsey's first choice. Not an easy one to tie himself to. Not if he had any sense. Yet....the former lawyer transferred his gaze to Angel. Wesley was another story. Wesley invited his loyalty. And that was a rare thing. Lindsey had learned to value it, the trust and the friendship as one of the most valuable gifts he'd ever been given. If it was what Wesley needed, Lindsey would do it.

 

"How important is this?" He asked. There were after all things that were important and things that were not. Things like desires, preferences...they seemed more important than anything else...however, they paled in comparison to the really important things. Like alliances. Life and death. Friendship.

 

"It is important. It is vital. If I can not find Wesley very soon," Angel sighed. "They were fighting, instead of using the time to bond, to strengthen their ties. Nothing must come before that in a new bond." The scolding fell like little stones tossed against the chastised vampire's flesh. He flinched and looked up, with molten, black eyes. His face had a pinched look Angel did not like to see.

 

"It is done and can not be undone." Angel added. "I am left trying to fix what I can, and save my vampire and his thrall, and my friend. Your friend. I know the sacrifice is huge from where you are standing, and the benefits...."

 

"Fine." Lindsey said. Then when both vampires simply looked at him, saying nothing, he further clarified. "I will bond to Balthazar."

 

"You will willingly become his thrall?" Angel asked just to be certain. he wanted no doubts here. "With all that entails? Without more questions?"

 

"Yes. It sounds like the best course of action." Lindsey said. "The best way to protect Wesley and Balthazar." He looked back at the vampire he'd just named. "I like the name Wes uses. Zar. It suits you." Balthazar lifted his chin, but did not acknowledge the man's statement. The look he gave Lindsey was more of a glare, a challenge, than anything welcoming.

 

"It is all I can think of. To Bond you to him, to reinforce his strength and keep him from failing. The options this early in a bonding are few." Angel said. "And I thank you for agreeing." He turned his eyes to Balthazar. Who studiously refused to look at Angel, fixing his eyes, at last, on the human.

 

Lindsey watched as that handsome, strained face slowly morphed into a vampire's visage. He just watched, curious. He didn't leap up and run, though this vampire was not one he would chose to have to trust with his or anyone else's safety. Angel was here, Angel would not let Balthazar take his life.

 

Lindsey stood and without being ordered went to the rumpled bed. He took off his jacket, and draped it over a chair. Then he tugged off his shirt, while kicking off his shoes. His trousers and socks followed. He left on his boxers, just because, and crawled into the center of the bed, pushing the pillows aside. He lay on his back, arms and legs relaxed and a bit spread.

 

Lindsey settled into place and then he looked over at the dry-mouthed Balthazar. He let a faint smile grace his face, his eyes darkly intent, locked onto the black pits of the vampire who he was intended for. Then, he arched his neck, the throb of his offered veins a siren song to both vampires in the room, inviting them to taste him.

 

Balthazar hissed, his fangs aching, his limbs quivering as he resisted the call of the pale fleshed body, knowing he had to wait for Angel's word. Knowing Angel would not take kindly to Balthazar's leaping in to feed before the binding was done. He ground his teeth, the razor points of his fangs tearing his lower lip.

 

"Lindsey!" Angel whispered, watching the display unfold. Deliberately he looked over at the Cajun vampire, drawing the man's eyes along with his. He wanted the warning to be clear. "You play with fire."

 

"Darla." Lindsey breathed in answer. And that name brought a reluctant smile to Angel's lips. Yes. Darla would teach her humans exactly how to please her, down to the last gasp. The shocking thing was that Lindsey was still alive to tell him that Darla had been the one to teach him these tricks.

 

Darla was no vampire to deny herself the pleasure of a kill. In her estimation, there were plenty of other opportunities to find, no need at all to preserve a piddling human, just because he or she knew how to be a good, hot, sexy meal. Darla, in fact was perhaps the best preparation Lindsey could have had to know how to serve and deal with his soon to be master, Balthazar. Balthazar, too, tried to insist humans were disposable and nothing more than cattle. Let them grow and ripen, then harvest them at their most succulent ripeness.

 

Angel shook his head as he approached the bed. His grudging admiration was growing. "I am going to drink from you." He warned the man beneath him as he climbed up. He saw Lindsey's fingers and toes unconsciously flex at the low words.

 

Lindsey leaned his head further back, his skin dimpling in a rush, as Angel moved over him. His reply was physical and verbal, the one word married to the undulation of his body into Angel's touch, the bulk of the large, solid vampire moving to cover him. As the vampire lifted him into his potentially fatal embrace, the man made no effort to protect himself, to ward off the fangs that swooped for his tender, vulnerable throat. Loving, craving the brush of Angel's silk shirt over his chest.

 

"Drink." Lindsey sighed, his lids drifting down as the fangs sank, sharp, deep.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Balthazar came down the steps more slowly than his vampire king. He looked pale and drawn. But he was on his feet and his jaw was set, and the determination that radiated out from him, the power, the leashed anger, was impossible to miss. Groo looked him over. He would do. He would fight, and save his thrall. That was everything that could be asked of him for now.

 

Angel went directly to his armory through the crowd that stood waiting for the command to leave, selecting a sword and a dagger. He turned, extending the dully gleaming blade, looking down the length of the blade, then swung it carefully to test it's balance. It was his favorite sword. But each time he took it, he tested it. It was as perfectly balanced as ever. He felt someone at his shoulder. He looked over, meeting the chocolate brown eyes of his werethrall.

 

Xander stood as if he was sure of his welcome, sure he would go on this fight. Angel felt an instant of reluctance, of desire to keep his thrall safe. He wanted to lock the man-beast in his rooms and forbid him to come out. Tell him he was needed to protect the others. To lie and say he did not think Riley and Graham, with the aid of Remus and Romulus, and the very inventive Lorne, could take care of the hotel and of Doyle. Xander's gaze never wavered.

 

Xander was a fighter. Xander was more than human. He was strong, and he was vicious. Angel needed him. Xander wouldn't hesitate to do what was necessary. Angel nodded at him, reached out and lay his hand along Xander's neck, and felt Xander's tension ease. His fingers knotted in the dark hair, human soft for now. He was stronger with the werehyena at his side, and he knew it, Xander knew it. He would hazard a guess that everyone in the hotel knew it. Xander would come with them.

 

Angel looked beyond his thrall. Buffy was sorting through the vast collection of stakes and pikes. Giles at her side was already bristling with weapons of every description. Behind him, as he patiently held the armful of stakes, were Arthur and Lancelot. They watched with both the seriousness the situation deserved and more than a dash of amusement as the pile in Giles' arms grew.

 

Groo was relaxed, chatting with Alistair and Gunn, prepared, but in no hurry, no anxiety in his big, strong body. Alistair and Gunn stood shoulder to shoulder. The ghostly sheen of Tristan was there, floating all around the tall warrior. Angel liked the quiet air of competence, the lack of defiant aggression. Gunn was an even more formidable warrior than he had been, if that was possible. His tie to Alistair had given him the last bit of stability his life lacked. They were perhaps the best matched pair Angel had seen in all his long life.

 

Alistair looked up when he felt his king's eyes on him. The pale green gaze was supportive, intent, and transmitted the older vampire's faith in his leader. His hair was as always drawn up and fastened with it's silver clasp. A heavy weight at the nape of his neck. Angel ached to run his fingers through that wealth of silk. He promised that he would do it when Wesley had been returned to the hotel, and to Balthazar.

 

Angel glanced up the stairs. The last of the group he was taking, Heri, was there, pressing his thrall up against the banister, hands buried in the thick locks of hair, holding his head. His mouth was over the lightly bruised lips, feeding and kissing, his tongue working inside, deeply, his head canted, Kon's fingers rising to caress along his vampire's cheeks.

 

Heri had Kon backed up against the railing, the dark skinned thrall he had claimed half trapped between the two of them, eyes huge with alarm, despite being larger than both, as they reached around him. But Heri's attention was fully on his first thrall, kissing him like there was nothing else he'd ever want or need more. And Kon, his acceptance, his surrender, the line of his body curved into the slightly smaller body of his master, ignited a fire low in Angel's belly as he watched. The thrall's bare chest heaved, bronze points of his erect nipples catching the light as Heri pulled away. He ran the back of his hand over his kiss swollen lips.

 

The European cupped his thrall's cheek in one palm, lapping at his own lips as he stared into the eyes of his long time thrall. Then he transferred a much less passionate look to the newer member of his triad. "Watch him well, my love." Heri said to Kon, the hoarse voice offering sultry promises on their reunion.

 

"I will." Kon murmured back, not looking away, fingers trailing over the tender mouth that had only just pulled away.

 

"I will be back soon. Then we will lick him blind." Heri smiled, as the darker of his two boys shivered. Then he turned and skipped on down the stairs to the lobby.

 

"Well?" He asked, rubbing his hands briskly. "Aren't you ready? Lets go."


	68. Chapter 68

  
Author's notes: **This one is for peja, for all she lets us do and share.** How well do you know Lorne? Lorne's thoughts.  


* * *

Lorne sat back with a contented sigh as he slid the last of the thick stack of paper into the right order. It had taken an annoyingly long time to resort the scattered sheets. They had not been numbered. And reading through them was a headache. Luckily Fred read quickly. He let his eyes travel to the bed where Fred was curled up, one hand tucked under her adorable, pointed chin, slumbering.

 

Anders was sleeping next to her. He'd woken with his arms tied, and not been happy about it. He'd yelled and demanded to be freed. The yelling of course was at Fred, who'd blinked at him, not saying much, letting him air his frustrations. The yelling had stopped when the blond man noticed Lorne sitting at the desk just a bit out of his line of sight when Anders had first roused.

 

The lovely, male but lush mouth snapped shut when Lorne came into his view. Anders had a very good sense of self-preservation. And while he might try to intimidate Fred into releasing him, Lorne was a far different story. Lorne let his crimson eyes rest on the young man's handsome face, and Anders fell silent, paling just a little. He really had to let the boy know he couldn't yell at Fred that way. Pretty as he was, Lorne put Fred before the former Initiative soldier, hands down.

 

Anders would need some attention, the sooner the better. Lorne let his thoughts wander again, as Anders fell back onto the bed, mouth pressed shut. A few minutes later Fred, not at all intimidated by the ineffective tirade, crawled up on to the bed next to the blond and fell asleep. Her head rested against his shoulder. And, good boy, he wasn't objecting a bit. Lorne let the man see his approval. Proper behavior would be encouraged and rewarded. Unwillingly the man had relaxed, relief written across his face.

 

Lorne'd given Angel a brief run down of the contents of the papers he was now fussing with. Outlining the information Fred had coaxed out of her computer telling about one Professor Margaret Walsh and her newest connection to Wolfram and Hart. W&H had been very interested in her and her doings for some time. But this time, she reached out to them.

 

Apparently a new closer association was developing. She had called and asked for a service. Wolfram and Hart had found the request she made reasonable and doable. For a price. The negotiations had been both thorough, detailed and rapid. Lorne didn't understand much of what was being bartered. It was mostly done in scientific-speak-gobbledy-gook. The kind of stuff Fred knew and had nodded over. It was important information being bartered. The kind of thing he didn't want W&H to have. That was good enough for Lorne. The green demon understood enough to know that people and lives were involved. Wolfram and Hart were not know for their compassionate care and handling of either.

 

It was also clear what Walsh wanted for her information and research, both were highly desired by Wolfram and Hart and they set few limits on her when she asked for the service. She wanted more than one thing, naturally. Concessions of money and control. Mercenaries. But those were incidentals, not very important in the scheme of things. Doctor Walsh wanted one thing above all others. That was the important part. She wanted Spike and his thralls returned to Sunnydale. To her jurisdiction. And she wanted them kept there, where she could get at them whenever she liked. That was soooo not going to happen.

 

Angel had not been pleased, or surprised by the disclosed request. Lorne recalled the blazing gold of the king's eyes. The same color, feral, predatory gold was echoed in the eyes of the darker vampire, Angel's third, Balthazar. Alistair had stood behind the two livid vampires, tall, calm and an island of quiet strength as Lorne told Angel, not reacting until Angel growled. Then the blond vampire had placed a hand on the arm of his leader, moving in to stand with his body against Angel's. Angel had made an aborted reach for the other's long hair, tied up and out of the way in preparation for the coming battle. He'd stopped the movement with his fingers barely into the strands at Alistair's temple.

 

Angel reacted as if the touch was a soothing anodyne. And he in turn reached out and put his hands on the fuming, much more out of control Balthazar. Balthazar who'd gone into his fighting face, quivering with barely leashed fury. Balthazar who jumped when Angel first touched him, but subsided with startling rapidity as Angel offered his body to lean against. Lorne knew he should not have been as shocked as he was by Balthazar taking the comfort and support Angel offered. But he was. He was caught completely by surprise.

 

Lorne had been both intrigued and faintly, make that markedly, he corrected, alarmed by the dark vamp for just about the entire time he'd been here at the hotel. Balthazar wanted to kill things. And the rage rolling off him was different than the rage Lorne was well acquainted with. Balthazar's rage was universally desirous of being fed. Indiscriminately hungry. Balthazar didn't truly care who or how many were killed. Not if they were deliberately or accidentally between him and his thrall. Him taking comfort from Angel was...new.

 

Lorne had been on Earth long enough to learn a good deal about vampires and even a little bit about thralls and the blood circle phenomenon. Thralls could make a vampire stable. Every once in a while. Or unstable. More often. If the world was in for a run of luck, the stable ones became the rulers. If not....

 

Power like the power having thralls gave a vampire was a chancy thing. Balthazar was not one he would have wanted to take the chance on, Lorne thought as he watched Angel stroke pale fingers down the long, brown skinned, bared throat of his subordinant vampire. Lorne also watched the concomitant shudders that rippled over the long, lithe body. Seeing Balthazar like that made him want to shudder, too. But hardly in a good way.

 

Lorne knew he wasn't a vampire, he was a demon. And while vampires were loosely grouped as demons, they weren't really. There were plenty of things Lorne didn't understand about them. Chief among the mysteries at this time: how could Angel touch, cuddle and stroke the other vampire? Angel wasn't faking his own reaction. He was enjoying it as much as Balthazar needed it.

 

Lorne wasn't the only one who had been less than happy about witnessing the tri-vampire encounter. Xander, sensible and territorial beast that he was, had raised every hackle he had and pointed them all in Zar's direction. His growling hiss had been pretty easy to interpret. Angel had wisely let Zar go after another, last caress. Balthazar had, remarkably, been significantly calmed by the short period of contact.

 

Angel went to Xander, and Xander had glared at Balthazar until Angel distracted him. Then Xander applied his tongue to *his* master and vampire, marking him liberally with hyena-Xander scent even as he cleaned the vampire scent off of him. Angel had stood, lost in thought, and allowed it.

 

Alistair, now there was a stable being, human, vampire or demon. Alistair was in control of himself and of his actions. He was rational. He was staunchly reliable. He had looked into himself, he knew who he was. What he was. He was as far from crazy as any Lorne had met. Lorne trusted Alistair. He would even let Alistair watch over Fred if that became necessary. And that was about the highest praise anyone could earn from Lorne.

 

Now Angel.... Well Angel was pretty predictable. Angel had values. He had limits. He had morals and ethics. He was more likely than Alistair to explode and hurt someone, but likely that person would deserve it and be selected for a specific and understandable reason, not recreational reasons. He was not as sane as Alistair, was Angel, but he was still sane. Even when he was more Angelus than Angel.

 

But Balthazar was a whole different kettle of fish. It really was too bad Wesley had fallen for him so hard. Because Lorne was absolutely certain Balthazar was not sane. He was nuts. Not the sweetly loopy kind of crazy, either. He was vengeful, bitter, and completely unpredictable. He was dangerous. He was psychotic. He wouldn't bat an eye if innocents were killed. If he even noticed. He scared Lorne, but good. That was only sensible. Scary things should scare you.

 

Lorne wasn't a bad fighter. He was more than competent, in fact, though he often chose not to fight. He'd stayed alive for a long time in some very bad places. Places a lot of others died in. Just because he preferred not to advertise that particular skill, didn't mean he was some lily-livered pantywaist. It didn't mean he was helpless. He could fight. He could kill. But there had to be a good reason. Balthazar didn't need a reason at all. He would do it for the simple reflex. If there was time, he might even enjoy it.

 

Lorne made it abundantly clear the moment he realized who and what Balthazar was that he did know. And that he comprehended what he was seeing in the demon's dead, black pit's of eyes. If Balthazar went after what Lorne valued, there would be consequences. Dire ones. And part of making sure Balthazar knew it, was to let him know what Lorne claimed as his. Fred, Wesley, Angel, Cordelia, Doyle, Gunn, and whoever they also valued. Lorne kept his message simple. Complicated messages resulted in misunderstandings. Misunderstandings were not good. Misunderstandings resulted in deaths. Keeping it simple reduced that likelihood.

 

Madness came in many flavors and degrees. Lorne had seen a lot of it. He knew when to run and when to stand his ground. No mistaking it, Lorne knew he was strong. He was an opponent who would make just about any enemy falter and rethink their strategy, as well as the wisdom of fighting him if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Just because he didn't advertise his talents for survival didn't mean he had none. Just as the crayon colored suits and flamboyant lifestyle he projected didn't mean he was a screaming queen, though if others wanted to assume he was, he wasn't going to stop them. It was a convenient assumption. Males of all ilk underestimated the feminine and the effeminate.

 

Window dressing had it's uses. Many uses. If people wished to assume he was not a threat, not a power, not a mover and a shaker in the demon community, well, it was no skin off his very green and prominent nose. Protective coloring had it's value, and that value could not be overestimated. It made him an effective liaison. He didn't appear to be a threat, but if someone moved against him, he was, he most definitely was, able to take care of himself. And part of being a liaison was being durable. He didn't want to need to be replaced.

 

So. Balthazar had gotten the message Lorne sent. Lorne's people, all of them, were off limits. Lorne would react negatively to any of them being harmed because Balthazar acted...or failed to act.

 

But. Lorne had also been given a message. Wesley was Balthazar's to protect. Balthazar would protect him. The vampire might be nuttier than a fruitcake and deadlier than an Ebola epidemic, but he made it very clear. Wesley was his. Wesley was not to be touched or harmed. Except, Lorne thought wryly, by the vampire himself. Possessive little psycho-shit.

 

Lorne actually felt a grudging admiration for Balthazar. Balthazar knew what Lorne was, one predator to another, they'd recognized each other. Especially when Lorne had let his affable mask down a fraction and let the problem child of Angel's brood see his true self. Warned him of just who the alpha male between the two of them was. Balthazar might have the soul of a serial killer, but Lorne was no saint himself. And they had known that about each other. He and Balthazar.

 

Lorne sighed, squaring the corners of the stack of printouts. Well, despite his intentions and Balthazar's, someone, 99% likely Wolfram and Hart, had taken and probably hurt Wesley. Who they both had made promises, internal or not, to protect. Now, the past couldn't be changed. But there would be revenge taken for any and all harm Wesley suffered.

 

With one, long finger Lorne nosed out a single piece of paper. The first name on the sheet caught and held his eye. He'd exchanged a sentence or two with Angel on this subject. Lorne and Angel had know each other for a long time. They knew how each other thought. They didn't agree on every thing. However, they had agreed in this matter. He traced the name with his finger tip. Doctor Margaret Walsh.

 

Doctor Walsh had been allowed free rein a little too long. She should have been stopped before she caused the trouble Angel and LA found themselves dealing with right now. That the east coast and Dru were also to be laid at Walsh's door wasn't up for debate. Her experiment had put two unstable individuals in control of a large area on the far coast. There were a lot of people who were far less safe than they had been.

 

Angel hadn't been able to find out much about the second female vampire Walsh had used. Unlike Dru, Angel had no connection that he was aware of with the second female. But Dru was bad enough.

 

Dru was not going to prove to be a compassionate and benevolent ruler. Nor was Anya going to help much on that rocky field. A vengeance demon wasn't Lorne's first choice of a mate for a bloodthirsty, half-mad vampire. Anya wasn't as off as Dru. But it wasn't all that much of a stretch between them. Lorne was forever grateful the other two thralls sent by Dr. Walsh were dead. The mere idea of Dru with even more power scared him right down to his chartreuse silk socks. Dru at the center of a blood-circle...Lorne shuddered.

 

A noise as Fred shifted on the bed drew Lorne's attention back to the room he was in and away from other, less pleasant thoughts. Lorne knew it was Fred who had moved, because Anders was frozen, watching him like a mouse that spied a snake. Lorne stood and stretched.

 

He wasn't too surprised Anders was afraid of him, though he'd never unnecessarily hurt the boy. He let his appreciative gaze wander over the man. Lovely. Lorne's hand went to his jacket, which was laid aside. Then his shirt followed. He had no undershirt to worry about, having leant that to Giles, poor man. He was bare chested. The blue eyes of the man tied to the bed went wide. He seemed to shrink into the mattress. Fred responded to the movement by snuggling closer. Anders did not seem comforted by that.

 

Lorne went for the bed sitting next to the man. He ran his hand over the acres of bare, tanned skin. Marvelous texture, the young human males often had the softest skin of all. Lorne loved to touch it. He let his hand wander, keeping the contact gentle, soothing. He didn't want to hurt his beautiful young man. He preferred it when Anders fainted with pleasure. That was so much nicer.

 

He let his hand slip under the light sheet that covered part of Fred and most of the blond man. Anders eyes went from the broad, heavily muscled green chest and shoulders, to fly up to meet Lorne's hot, crimson eyes. His breath hitched in his chest. Lorne sighed. So beautiful. It would take him a while to learn what there was to fear, and what he shouldn't fear. But in the interim, Lorne would be especially careful with him.

 

The sheet fell away just enough to expose a single flat nipple, a coin of exquisite, bronze perfection, Lorne's breath caught in his throat. He bent down, and let his long, very long tongue flick out.

 

Oh, sssoooo...

 

Damn....

 

Beautiful.

 

Sinuous tongue wrapping around the nipple.

 

And he tasted good, too.

 

Lussssssciousssss.


	69. Chapter 69

  
Author's notes: Finding Wesley.  


* * *

Angel was at the head of the group as they entered the front doors of the vast, glass enclosed Wolfram and Hart building. Every face in the lobby turned to them, snap, snap, snap. A few dozen eyes going wide and alarmed, but, among them the chosen, the ones who had known Angel was coming, remained calm, calculating, suits impeccable, out of the day to day fray. The lobby was buzzing with activity, even at the late hour.

 

Angel held back a smirk, his mind flashing on his Childe, Spike, and how *he* would smirk at the reactions if he were here. That lip would curl and his eyes would flash and Angel would have had to laugh. He barely held it back now. He noted the grouping of men and women off to the left a moment before they surged forward in an attack. All of them held the shock sticks W&H had refined to be very effective against demons and vampires. Angel scowled. He hated those damn things.

 

Security was first to reach them, tasers and shock sticks held at the ready, poor sods. The Suits stood well back, nearly licking their greedy lips, waiting for the assault to bear fruit.

 

Angel hated the ghod cursed things, the sticks, because they *hurt*, even if they didn't cause any real damage. He'd passed on the information to Xander, Zar and Alistair, Gunn was already well acquainted with them The round, half dollar sized scar on his left side testament to one encounter, one time he had not moved quickly enough.

 

This time Gunn was not slow, he was not open, he was like wind blowing through the lobby, fresh and sharp and clean, blowing down what stood around him. The blur of his arms, the solidity of his stance, the fluidity of his movement a dance through the the first floor of Wolfram and Hart. And all around him they dropped like flies. Angel watched, caught up in the storm of Gunn's brutally efficient dance, the streamers of Tristan's ghost riming his dark skin like frost.

 

The guards, well paid and trained mercenaries, dropped around him like insects swatted, insignificant against his force and skill. It was silent, the grunts few and far between, one blow, one fall, quick and clean, the security force went from upright to sprawled, insensate on the expensive carpet.

 

Gunn's face was serious, but not grim, rather eerily calm, intent on his task. Flashes of Tristan fading in and out in the bright lights. One moment mist, the next perfectly clear, his regal, strong features as present as Gunn's own. Gunn fierce joy in the fight shone pure.

 

Next to Gunn, Alistair fought. His blocks of the attacks against him were smooth circular arcs guiding his foes up and over, legs flying in gracefully helpless gymnastics, until they tumbled to the floor and he moved past, never a hitch in his step. His expression serene, his mouth a benevolent, beautiful, almost smile gracing his devout, saint's face. He went through the dozen guards like water, never caught, nor contained, touching all of them, bringing all of them down, inexorable. Then settling, clear, fresh, still, movement gone, not a ripple. Waiting, turning to look over his shoulder at his king.

 

Alistair was standing beside Gunn. All around them a quiet moaning and horribly gentle carnage. No one who had opposed them remained on their feet. There was no blood, just body after body, prone, supine, sprawled, groaning. All were down, out, incapable of resisting, of preventing Angel from walking his selected path, over and between their many bodies to the large, very familiar elevator. Xander, happy to rest against his master's side as they walked. Balthazar was tucked under one arm, Xander under the other. The vampire tense, angry to be held, when he would rather kill. But Angel didn't want Balthazar to kill....not yet.

 

They entered the elevator, the five of them, Gunn and Alistair last, pillars of marble, one light, one dark, closing ranks in front of Angel, protecting their ruler. Angel smiled, a slow and horrible smile for the gaping audience in the lobby as the elevator door slid noiselessly shut.

 

Balthazar abruptly turned into Angel's neck, growling, setting fangs at his king's jugular, the dents of his teeth stopping just short of piercing his king's throat. Angel made no motion of denial, but also no sign of permission. Balthazar waited, fangs poised, his tongue pressing hard to the deliberate pulse. He whimpered, filling the sound with need. Angel tilted his head back, enjoying the promised threat.

 

Xander reacting to that action and to the whimper with a snapping bark of his own, tension rippling through his whole body, stiffening with outrage.

 

"Not here, my thrall. No dissension, no disagreement while we are here." Angel shushed him. Xander pushed his nose into the sweet spot behind Angel's ear, and Angel felt his eyes drift shut for an instant while the elevator rose. He could let this happen, let his attention wander this time, let Balthazar feed, let Xander relay his claim....let his men take out the heart of W&H in a bloody rampage, but...he didn't. His eyes opened just when the elevator door did. He pushed Balthazar's face away from his throat, stepped out into the hall.

 

They were met by another even dozen, larger, more determined men. Alistair took out three with one movement, the big men toppling like dominoes. Gunn slipping further along the wide hall, dispensing his own blows. Angel watched, content to view the destruction of the security force. Far down the hall was the office he wanted. He headed that way. Walking through the force as if they weren't there, neither Gunn nor Alistair letting any of the men lay a hand on him.

 

Lilah's office was unchanged, even as the plaque on the wall made it clear that dying had furthered her cause as far as advancement went. Her smile was as chillingly welcoming as ever, the ever present scarf around the unhealing wound in her neck, the gaping cause of her death, a wound that she would always wear. Her face was a bloodless grey, yet still attractive if you could ignore the color that in humans that only meant dying, death and very dead. Her smile was without sparkle, without the draw it used to have. There was no life in it.

 

"Angel." She breathed out, and Xander bristled at the invitation in that one word. He snarled, letting the hyena take him over. She watched him, with fascinated unconcern. Then she smiled again.

 

"Ghod, Angel he is *ugly*, can't you do better? Oh, I am sorry, I forgot, you never had a choice. Surely you wouldn't have chosen him if you had." She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in a smirk like the Angel had decided not to give in to down in the lobby. She had no such compunction.

 

Angel ignored her words. She was still set on baiting him, still trying to sow the seeds of discontent. Xander reacted by growling. Angel hissed low under his breath, and sensed rather than saw his thrall shiver. "No need, mine own." He whispered.

 

"I want Wes." Angel told Lilah's corpse, his eyes blank as he looked at what remained of the lawyer who had sacrificed everything to live like an unsleeping, never resting zombie for the benefit of Wolfram and Hart. Xander might be right in calling Angel deadboy, but here was a creature with even less life in it. Here was one of the truly dead, caught in a web of unlife. Here was a true abomination.

 

Balthazar stirred, his face changing with a gradual slowness that was like watching a flower bloom in minutes, not hours. Angel let his hand run up the slender back, stilling his vampire. Balthazar's disquiet was palpable, his dislike of the dead woman extreme. The dark holes that were the vampire's eyes bored into the woman greeting them. She looked at him in return with glazed eyes.

 

"This must be lover boy." Angel knew she was not talking about him. For Lilah this conversation was all about Wes. Wes who had been her lover in a twisted way, a coupling of dire enemies. Lovers who sacrificed each other at one time or another, and then for each other. Lovers who had protected each other, then betrayed one another. But, for Lilah, it would never be over. For Lilah, Wes was her last, living love. Being loved by Lilah...was not a good thing.

 

For Lilah, Balthazar was the one who was wrong, who had taken her place. Had replaced her with Wes. She showed him her perfect, straight teeth. He showed her his jagged, far sharper fangs. They snarled at each other. Xander joined in the snarling, but made no other move towards Lilah. Lilah at last gave a mirthless laugh and turned her attention away from the other, less familiar vampire to the well known one.

 

"Mr Windham-Pryce?" Lilah perched one buttock on the corner of her desk as the sounds of a muted scuffle continued, grunts of pain traveling easily into her office, from out in the hall. "It's all right, Tommy. Let them in." She called out, smiling. Tommy, whoever he was, did not answer. She shrugged. It hardly mattered. Angel was here now. And she would do her best to keep him occupied as long as possible.

 

"Just how many have you brought with you today, huh, Angel? I have been hearing some very interesting things about you. I wonder, are they just rumors? You know how demons like to talk. The worst gossips on the planet. Or..." She leaned in close, until the three men in front of her desk could not avoid the smell of death on her. Xander was quick to show his teeth, letting out an angry hiss, like a pot letting off steam, warning her not to come any nearer, and she leaned back.

 

"Or...are they true?" She tilted her head to the side. She fluttered her long lashes at Angel. "Are they? Are they true?" She purred, and for an instant her eyes held their former, avaricious gleam.

 

"They are all true." Angel said, as if it mattered less than nothing. "I asked you for something, Lilah. And I expect you to give it to me."

 

"Are you the king of Los Angeles, Angel? How high and mighty you have grown." She teased him, counting the quiet ticks of the clock behind her. Since she had died, she found she liked the sound of time passing. Knowing she was unchanging, that time would no longer touch her, wrinkle her, or harm her. She was as she would always be. Forever and ever. She would have gloated if she cared enough to.

 

She turned her head as Alistair and Gunn came into the room.

 

She blinked, face going slack as she looked from the ghostly possession of one to the impossible beauty of the other. These two, oh they would be useful acquisitions. And fun to experiment on.

 

The one...the man who used to be Gunn, the scientists would have a field day finding out what had happened to him. Because something big had happened to Gunn. Something she, as a junior partner in the law firm that saw everything, had never seen. Ohhh. Very intriguing. Definitely a topic to broach at the next daily meeting.

 

She turned her filmed eyes towards the other. Odd. She could have sworn he was a vampire. But she felt the warmth of his skin as he stepped up closer, moving to place himself between her and Angel. He was wasted as a bodyguard, no matter his skill at fighting. He was ethereal. He should be put to far better use. He should be given in tiny doses to reward and bribe men who nothing else would move. This one was that visually stunning. Perhaps even the senior partners would want him. Acquiring him was going to be a pleasure.

 

"Oh, Angel...." She breathed out. "Oh, my...." She stopped herself before thanking him for bringing the two to her attention. No need to tease him too much. Enough time to do that when they were locked in dungeon and lab respectively. "Almost forgot about Wesley...I can see why you were so slow in coming to rescue him. Who on Earth could blame you...."

 

Balthazar's hand shot out, grabbing her face and turning it back to his and Angel's. His fingers sank into the rubbery flesh. He lifted her up off her partial seat on the desk and up on her toes. The tips of her Italian leather pumps scraped at the thick nap of the carpeting. He fought the urge to crush her face to jelly. She needed her jaw to speak, to tell them where his thrall was.

 

"Balthazar is not as patient as I am." Angel remarked, casually, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His voice dropped lazily, yet still rang with the threat. "I suggest that you turn over Wes."

 

"As soon as we've retrieved a little item we require." Lilah said, unconcerned, hanging comfortably from Balthazar's grip. "One you have left unguarded, or relatively so." She smiled against the pressure of the unnaturally strong fingers. "We'll have them in just a minute or so, not long to wait. Then you will have your precious researcher back. What is left of him." Her voice smoothed when she spoke of him.

 

Angel cocked his head. Even when Wesley and this woman had been lovers she had not hesitated to hurt him. Funny how Balthazar now seemed the more gentle and compassionate of the recent lovers the researcher had taken. Funny how Balthazar was the more human.

 

Yes, she was still in love, still jealous, still possessive, even dead. Angel grimaced at the thought. She wasn't vampire dead. She was just...dead. He was distracted by a dull crack, like old dry wood breaking. Balthazar had snapped her neck. Angel sighed. Well, at least she could still talk.

 

"No, Balthazar. She needs to be able to tell us where he is." Angel admonished the other, darker vampire. Balthazar grimaced in disgust and rage, his abruptly golden eyes burning with a yellow flame.

 

"You mean Spike?" Angel asked her. He saw her gaze flicker. He gifted her with a smile. Not one of his brightest, but hey, he was not in a good mood. Being in W&H, dealing with her,it just put him off, somehow. She frowned down at him.

 

"Don't worry about Spike. He has plenty of help." He smiled wider, shaking his head. "Lilah, Lilah, Lilah. Oh surely you didn't expect me to leave my Childe undefended? With only his thralls to save him? No such luck, Lilah. I am afraid Professor Walsh is not going to get what she wants." He shook a finger at her, tsking.

 

"Now." Angel re-crossed his arms over his chest. "Balthazar is already unhappy with you. He's broken your neck. I know it didn't *hurt* you. But having to go around with casts on all your arms and legs would be...inconvenient. Not to mention awkward. Considering that the casts could never come off, that the bones would never heal....surely you don't want him to break anything else?" Angel let his voice taper off, as Balthazar growled at the lawyer in eager warning.

 

She stared down at him from the end of Balthazar's rock steady arm. The toes of her pumps were now off the ground and she was hanging in his relentless grip. She did not like the idea of being broken. Angel continued speaking when she offered him nothing.

 

"Oh, come now. Be reasonable. I haven't exactly threatened you with anything much, yet. Admit it. You have lost this round." He was still for a few beats, looking around the lushly appointed room. Then he lifted his eyes back to hers. "And I haven't even threatened to burn you into ashes, Lilah. But...if it is what you want....then I will."

 

His smile was ghastly. And she had no doubt that he would have it done, and not blink an eye. The dark skinned vampire that held her...he wouldn't hesitate. And that was not going to be permitted. Wesley was not worth that, nor was Spike.

 

She told him where he could find Wesley. Even she could not work from an ash filled ewer on a shelf. Without a body she would be voiceless. She wondered if she would still have a consciousness if she was cremated. Hmmm.

 

An interesting question to ponder, she thought as she was tossed to the ground, her body impacting against the wall of her office suite. The elegant vampire had a hell of an arm. She watched them leave the room. She sat up, unhurt. He head flopped to the side. Well, that was...just annoying. She held her head up with both hands as she climbed to her feet.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne leaned down.

 

He felt the itching prelude to true arousal begin in his horns. His eyes fluttered closed, as he pressed the side of his face into the strong, nicely muscled chest under his cheek. His horns grew. Extending along his skull, curling back over his cranium, thickening and sharpening, the ridges smoothing. He hissed at the incredible sensation of the stimulation. Even the air whispering over the horns made him shiver in ecstasy.

 

A hand, as reluctant as it was compelled, reached up, until light fingers ghosted over the hot surface of the horns. Lorne groaned. It was exquisite. Anders' answering groan followed close on the heels of the demon's. The once resistant man lurched up, grasping Lorne's head in his hands. He pressed his nose into the hair around the horns. He sniffed in the scent, his eyes rolling up into his head, he shook. His tongue reached out.

 

The heat of the blond's mouth as it fastened on the base of his horns forced a moan from Lorne. Anders sucked at the bony place where skin met horn and Lorne growled his appreciation. The warm, wet tongue licked, Lorne shivered. Anders climbing up his body, forcing Lorne onto his back, straddling him. Lapping at the glands at the base of the horns, feeling the rush as the tiny droplets filled full of the hormones were absorbed into his membranes.

 

Anders trembled, quivering with building need. He ground himself against the large demon laying under him. Lorne in turn, reveling in the attention being paid to his horns.

 

"Please." Anders whimpered, his pelvis rocking over the bulge at Lorne's groin. The fleshy thickness, pushing up against his perineum, the soft, tender place behind his tightening balls.

 

"Please." His breath puffed out over the spit moistened horns. He nibbled at them. Tasted. Mouthed.

 

"Please." He begged, his erection so hard he thought it might shatter. "Ghod. Please!"


	70. Chapter 70

  
Author's notes: assault on the hyperion  


* * *

The noise, a tiny, tinkling sound, cut through all of the layers of sleep that had the girl wrapped in a comfortable somnolence. On moment happily snoring, the next....

 

Fred sat bolt upright, arms flailing out with the suddenness of her waking. Her left arm struck the ever present glass of juice on her nightstand, tumbling it over. The juice, a mix of her favorite guava and mango juices with an eensie bit of plain OJ and a dash of wheatgrass, sprayed out over a stack of clothes piled nearby. Anders' clothes. Anders' *only* clothes.

 

Fred winced as full consciousness returned. Ooops. Lorne hated it when the boy was naked in public. Now he had no clean clothes. Well, rats!

 

She turned to offer an apology to the panting boys next to her on the big bed. They were going at it again! She shook her head, ducking her chin to hide her huge grin. Not that she minded, they were really something to watch when they got going... But, the sound that had wakened her came again. Almost too small to hear, distant, but she heard it. Lorne did too, judging from the way his body stiffened, went still, his hands holding Anders tightly.

 

"Bad sounds." Fred whispered to the naked demon, not taking her eyes off the closed door. He nodded back at her, she felt the movement, agreeing. Then she looked over at the panting, sweat dewed Anders, blond hair plastered to his face. He did not seem so convinced. He seemed impatient with the delay.

 

"Very bad noises," she told him, wondering if he understood anything she said through the mating haze. Fred had made Lorne promise not to do the hormone-y thing with her...unless she asked him to. It was wild, and great, good fun.... But not for every day. Not for her. She had reading and research and computer things to get done. And the hormone-y thing with his horns made her forget all about that.

 

Lorne was up and off the bed as fast as she was, reaching for his pants. Anders was flat on his back, having been tumbled there by Lorne's withdrawal. He looked confused, and unhappy, his legs not closed, not hiding anything at all. Fred knew it would take him a minute to gather his thoughts. Lorne was a very potent male after all, capable of spinning anyone's head. She turned away to give the confused man a little privacy. Though being so pretty, maybe he didn't need it?

 

"Get dressed," Lorne said unnecessarily to Fred who was tugging on an unwrinkled, short, summer weight dress.

 

"Get dressed," Lorne said more gently, and far more necessarily to Anders, who blinked up at him. Still splayed wantonly, barely comprehending he was being spoken to. Lorne lifted him off of the bed, and Anders tried to climb up the green demon's body, mouth latching on to one of the row of green/bronze nipples going down the broad chest. his heels dug into Lorne's buttocks, clinging like a limpet. A very aroused limpet.

 

Lorne carefully but quickly peeled the young human off. He was in direct sympathy with Anders on this untimely interruption. His horns were in full extension, curling back from his forehead, around the sides of his face, the blunted tips ending at the corners of his mouth. They glistened with saliva and the sticky, addictive hormones Anders had been lapping up. The horns were just going to have to wait, they wouldn't go down until he and his chosen partner ejaculated, so....everyone downstairs was about to get an eye full of something Lorne had successfully hidden for a long, long time. But there was no help for it.

 

Lorne reached for the clothing stacked on Fred's table, folded and waiting for Anders and came up with...juice. Sticky, wet, completely unusable clothing. He gave out a grunt of frustration. "I need clothes now, Fred. For him. I won't leave him here." He told the small woman, his speech clipped and filled with the urgent need to hurry. She nodded, already moving to her dresser.

 

Fred tossed out several things onto the floor, discarding them. She found her largest scoop necked t shirt, in a neon pink. Lorne caught it and dragged it on over Anders' head, dislodging the very skillful, very hungry mouth from his skin. What a damn shame.

 

The shirt was way too small and way too tight, not coming close to covering Anders' belly button and the lovely washboard of his abs. In fact it covered his chest, and about three inches below and that was all. But it would have to do.

 

Fred burrowed into another drawer. All her pants were too small. But...triumphantly she held up a very stretchy, acid green Lycra skirt. Lorne snatched it up and managed to get Anders' legs into it, dragging it up over his hips, like putting toothpaste into the tube, in reverse. It was far shorter on the former soldier than on her, covering hips and few millimeters of his thighs. Very nice thighs, Fred thought critically. But there was no time to look for anything else. Anyway, most of him was covered. Mostly. Sort of. Though the skirt being so tight, didn't really conceal anything. Much.

 

Anders, finally waking up out of his haze, blinked again. Looking down at the shirt and skirt he was stuffed into. He looked up at them, his face a mask of pure, masculine horror. "No WAY!" He exclaimed, shaking his head. Personally, Lorne agreed with him, he never would have put the man in this outfit if he'd had a choice, the colors clashed terribly....

 

There was no time to argue. Lorne swiped a hand over his horns and thrust a finger into the sputtering man's mouth. Anders tried to protest, but ended up sucking on the long, green fingers instead, distracted for a moment.

 

The sounds from down below were coming more often, and they'd already wasted an entire minute getting dressed. Not bothering with a shirt for himself, grumbling at another secret he was about to reveal, Lorne threw Anders over his shoulder, grabbed the long pike next to Fred's door and headed out. Fred grabbed her favorite baseball bat and was on the move behind him.

 

"Ghod damn it!" Anders protested, groggily, hanging on to the moving mountain under him as Lorne ran down the stairs, his big hand clapped to the back of the blond's thigh to hold him in place. Anders could just imagine the picture he made like this. He groaned.

 

Afraid if he fought that both he and the demon would go head over heels down the stairs, Anders clung to the demon, swearing under his breath. He could feel the cool air on his bared buttocks. The damn skirt didn't cover much of anything, not when he was in this upended position. He also couldn't see where they were going, or what was in front of him. As a soldier that did not sit well with him, his nerves were screaming at him.

 

"Put me down!" He demanded, and was ignored for his trouble as Lorne continued on down the stairs. Anders shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't believe he had done it again. Gotten that out of control. He had promised himself he wouldn't. The guy wasn't even human. And he was a guy. Two big, major, stupendous strikes. And when his head was screwed back on right, he was sure he would think of the third strike with no trouble.

 

Lorne's huge strides caught up with Spike, Nic, Sam, Oz, Graham, Riley and Doyle on the third floor. Lorne blasted past the group despite carrying the man. Riley, caught sight of Lorne and his burden sailing past, followed by a serious faced Fred gripping a baseball bat in both hands. He almost fell over the railing himself when they passed him, and Anders' pale mooned bottom became visible. Graham grabbed his friend's arm, steadying him, keeping him from pitching head first down the steps. But Sam tripped and fell into Nic, eyes big as saucers.

 

"What the fuck...this place is a nut house!" Sam asserted, looking around warily, up the stairs and down. "What the fuck?"

 

"Shut up, Sam." Nic bumped into the other man hard, trying to see just how many people were fighting down below. Ten, twenty...damn there had to be nearly fifty men down there....

 

Nic shook his head. Spike coughed, and when his human thralls looked at him his face was red with the effort of holding back his laughter, smiling his best shark's grin. But he was also moving on down the steps. They followed him, Oz close on his heels, Nic half dragging the seriously reluctant Sam.

 

"Best be ready." The vampire reminded them. "Trouble down below. Oz, with me. Nic," Spike looked at Sam's huge, dilated eyes, "You, watch him." He ended, pointing one pale finger at the speechless Sam, changing his mind about having Nic with him, too. The kid, Sam, was spooked. He'd bear watching.

 

Nic had enough experience in the field that he knew a soldier didn't argue with orders this close to a battle. He nodded once and clamped his jaws shut on the protest that rose. His every instinct screamed at him to be with Spike and Oz. To back them up. They were *his*. Sam...well Sam was his friend...but he wasn't *his*. And Nic didn't belong to him. But...Spike had spoken, and Nic, grinding his molars, was determined to obey.

 

Buffy, Giles, Arthur, Lancelot and Groo were already engaged with several commando's in black. Spike grinned ferally as he watched the small blond dynamo. The little bint could still kick ass but good.

 

Groo and the other two champions seemed to be playing with the invaders. No swords had been drawn, they were pounding the men with their heavy, mailed fists. And very effectively, Spike noted with unembarrassed satisfaction. He led Oz cautiously down the steps onto the tiles flexing his fists, time to get in a little action of his own. To his never ending surprise, literally every commando turned towards him, as if he was the only person in the room. All of them surging forward. fingers grasping.

 

"Bloody hell!" He shouted as they all leapt at him. They'd be able to take him down with the sheer weight of their numbers, he knew.

 

But Oz wasn't having any of that. He seized two of the charging assailants and tossed them over his head, Spike hearing the distinct sound of breaking bones. Groo and Lance freed themselves and also grabbed more men, more bones breaking and bodies falling limp. Well, Spike almost smiled. He could get used to thi....four someones managed to break through his protectors and smash into him, squashing him uncomfortably flat. He struggled, getting a foot in one's belly and launching him up and off. Nothing like a good fight. Two took his place.

 

More men lunged at Spike. Buffy tossed one into the counter. Giles cracked another over the head. It sounded like a hollow, overripe melon. He went down like a sack of potatoes. Spike twisted and heaved from his awkward position on his back. He saw Oz tearing at the men on top of him, not making much headway as more joined in.

 

"Bloody...hell..." The blond vampire complained vociferously. "I am not the only sodding one in the room, gents....!" He yelled in frustration after an errant knee managed to catch him square in his nose. Blood gushed.

 

Oz went mad.

 

Spike could see the stark white face of his thrall above him as the young were became a whirlwind, a dervish of teeth and claws. Growling and snarling, biting and clawing, a fierce thing for all his small stature. Awe inspiring.

 

Spike gaped, well aware of the boner he was suddenly sporting. Ghod! Oz was...beautiful...incredible. Spike's heart flip flopped as he fought to get back to his feet. Hands were trying to drag him some where, he glanced in the direction they wanted him to go. Towards the front doors, where more men poured in. What had they brought? An entire battalion? For him? Because it was pretty obvious they wanted him. Out of the hotel.

 

Well, if that was what they wanted, and this badly, too, it was the last place he was going. He pushed with every ounce of his strength, not inconsiderable, and squirted out from under the pile, right between Oz's legs and beyond. He bounced up onto the balls of his feet. Coming face to face with the blond human in the bright pink tank and very abbreviated green skirt who was swinging a sword over his head. Every time the man lifted the sword, one nipple peeked out from under the too small shirt. Spike spared himself a minute to stare....nice enough....the man swung the sword again.

 

Spike ducked, and heard a thunk as the blade hit and bit deep into the body armor of one of the men creeping up behind him. He nodded his thanks to the rather attractive transvestite, and waded back into the fray himself. Had to give it to them, these blokes were nothing if not tenacious.

 

Upstairs, Remus and Romulus were growling and ripping into another group of men on the second floor, a broken window at the end of the hall testifying as to how the invaders had gained access.

 

The brothers had automatically turned to wolf form when they began to fight. For a bare instant they'd been startled by the change, and stood on all fours, blinking at each other, then they'd leapt into the fight, bristling with natural weapons.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Lorne stood amongst the bloody mess, the groaning, downed men. His hands were at his sides, a dripping wreck, his face fierce. His bare chest was liberally spattered with blood and other, stickier, more solid things. He looked around in disgust. His pants of course, were a total loss. No drycleaner in Los Angeles could save them. It had taken him months to find this particular shade. Add to that he was bare foot in this horrid, sticky mess, ghod know what all squelching between his dozen toes....he frowned, glowering.

 

Giles was standing not two meters away, staring at Lorne's naked upper body. Humans always stared. At the double row of nipples, all eight paps a nice green bronze, eye catching on Earth, common enough on Pylea. And the three belly buttons. Also no biggie where he came from, but not usual on Earth.

 

But mostly, Giles was staring at Lorne's fully extended horns. Lorne resisted the urge to throw something, anything, over his head to hide his horns. He knew he had a fine set, that he had nothing to be ashamed of...but they were his...horns! And they were *private*, intimate. Hell, extend as they were, they were *sex* organs. It was like standing there with his dick out, if he were human. He frowned harder. Surreptiously he checked his fly. No need to be doubly exposed.

 

Buffy, thank goodness, wasn't paying any attention to him, the only thing worse than men staring was women doing the same. She was instead blessedly regaling her two newest champions with a blow by blow description of her glorious battle exploits. Complete with sound effects and play-acting for the more exciting parts. The two large men listened to her solemnly, not a hint of a smile as she hopped right and left, grimacing and waving her spindly arms. Lorne rolled his eyes. He let his gaze roam. Everyone else was busy elsewhere.

 

Anders was leaning against a wall, covered in spatters. His...or rather Fred's skirt and shirt were utterly ruined, stained beyond all recovery, the shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest tattered. Someome at some time had managed to snag the skirt, a hole showed most of his left hip. The sight of the exposed skin made Lorne break out all over in a hot rush of sweat.

 

The sword he'd used was propped against the wall next to Anders. He seemed unhurt, but Lorne headed that way, meeting up with Fred. She was unscathed, small and competently cool again, now that the battle was over. Her bat was gouged and splintered. He made a mental note to get her a new one, and soon. He hugged her, she took ahold of his hand. Then they were at Anders' side. Lorne gathered the brilliantly blushing man into this arms squeezing tight. Anders let out a squeak of protest as the back of his skirt rode up when he was lifted, one flawless, muscled butt cheek trying valiantly to win free through the snagged hole.

 

Spike, Lorne saw over Anders' shoulder, was being fussed over by his werewolf and one of the humans. The other human hung back, distrust written on his face. Spike was soaking up all the attention, preening under it. Oz was energetically licking and examining him, and Spike was allowing it, a dopey, indulgent smile plastered across his face.

 

Groo, Graham, Riley and Doyle were going from body to body, ascertaining the condition of the men. They seemed to be alive, most of them. Groo was dragging them across the bloodied floor and out the front doors to the side walk by threes and fours. Doyle helping, being much stronger than his petite stature indicated.

 

With unspoken agreement Graham and Riley headed up the stairs to search the rest of the hotel. Lorne was pretty sure no one was left, but it never hurt to be certain.

 

After the last commando was gone, Doyle straightened and looked around him. He planted his hands on his hips, his eyes growing wide as he took it all in without the chaos of fighting going on.

 

"Oh. My. Ghod." The half demon said, crossly. "This is going to take forever to clean up."

 

Lorne heard that loud and clear, he cast a measuring eye at the distance between himself and the staircase. Wondering if he could make it up before Doyle noticed what he was doing....

 

Buffy ducked behind the tall bodies of her two champions.

 

Giles squared his shoulders tearing his eyes away from the magnifcent, and brand new set of horns on top of the very large demon's head. Lorne, yes. His name was Lorne....and he hadn't had horns like this.....

 

"Wha..." Giles said in the scowling Doyle's direction.

 

Buffy bolted for the elevator.


	71. Chapter 71

  
Author's notes: Finding Wes. Heri's battle. Balthazar's revenge.  


* * *

Heri rolled onto his back. His normally flat tummy was full and rounded. He burped, letting out the extra air he'd swallowed when gulping down the hot and succulent blood. He stroked his belly affectionately. He was utterly full. Replete. It had been a long time since he'd been free to gorge himself on blood, to take the most he was able, and didn't have to stop to keep from making a kill.

 

He licked his lips, enjoying the rich taste of the blood from the young, healthy and strong commandos. Good blood. His for the enjoying. All in a night's work. He giggled at his own joke, licking his fingers. Yum.

 

They had fought him, and lost. Admittedly he hadn't let them see him right away, he'd taken them by surprise one by one as they came in from the sewer entrance. Letting them step into the basement from the sewer, grabbing them one by one, swinging them up and away, while they kicked and struggled with him.

 

Every one of them had been bigger than he was. He loved that. Big, hard bodies, sweating, straining, fighting him. Squirming while he held them down, draining them, wanting to bury more than fangs into them, but holding at least that much back. Though he had let them feel his arousal, his hard prick pushing against their hips, bellies and thighs. Enjoyed the spark of fear that sprang in some of their eyes.

 

They would fight, and die, heads held high, but they feared his erection. He tittered over that, pressing harder, sliding himself openly along their bodies, letting them feel the promise of what he could do. Nothing turned a man on like a good fight. At least it did if the man in question won the fight. And some...Heri smiled as he felt the man under him start to harden...a few if they lost....

 

They had lost, each and every one of them. That meant he could and did, bite them. Happily. The winner's prize, his due. He hadn't killed any of them, just drained them until they couldn't fight him off. He had knocked the last two on the head, and sipped from them at his leisure, petting them as he fed, filling his palm with the heat of their slack, weighty genitals, while listening to the cacophony going on upstairs.

 

His job had been to guard the sewer access into the hotel. He'd done that admirably. So no one should begrudge him a fulsome repast.

 

He was lounging on his side, gnawing gently on one mercenary's wrist, hand buried in the man's pants, the man who's body didn't mind that he had lost, squeezing the long, thick, hot length, looking at the five commandos around him, in various states of unconsciousness, when the door leading down from the first floor opened.

 

The sounds from the hotel lobby had stopped a while before. He looked over at the men entering his little battle zone. He recognized Graham and Riley immediately, both men holding automatic weapons in no nonsense grips, fingers caressing triggers, ready to fire.

 

Just as well it was them and not an enemy, he thought, slipping his hand out of the man's clothes, propping himself up on one arm, he was far too full to bite anyone else right now. He grinned at them. Showing his bloody teeth to them in a ghastly, pleased-with-himself grin.

 

He saw them notice where his hand had been buried in the man's gaping fly. He regretted a tiny bit that they had interupted his play. The scent of the man, fear, want, desire, surrender...a heady brew. Heri didn't know if the man was gay, and it hardly mattered. Preference was the privilege of the victor, not the vanquished.

 

The grey eyed one took in the scene with nary a change in his expression. He stepped cautiously down the stairs. His tread light and quick, his eyes taking in everything. The other, Riley, taller, not as broad, tensed and hissed at this partner to slow down. He raised his weapon up and pointed it in Heri's direction, an unmistakable warning to the vampire not to make any sudden moves.

 

Heri had no difficulty interpreting the look in the young man's gaze. Heri gave the torn flesh of the arm a sealing lick, then let the bloody wrist he'd been sipping from fall away, not suddenly, but slowly, laying it carefully on the ground, and slipping his fingers away. For whatever reason, the man had given him a little taste of submission, and Heri saw no reason not to allow that to purchase a bit of care.

 

Riley's eyes fixed on him, their expression did not change, didn't need to, the thrall was not happy with what he was seeing. Heri saw distress, distrust and even a little disgust in those Iowa-blue orbs. OK, so despite Heri being another one of Angelus' thralls and thus in the eyes of vampire culture his brother...this one did not like him. Felt no rapport or connection, no loyalty. Heri tensed, not liking that at all.

 

It was, he decided, Angelus' fault. It was Angelus who failed to fully claim him. Failed to make it known to all that Heri was his, as these man were his. Heri prepared himself to avoid the hail of bullets in the attack he was pretty sure was coming as the second man looked at the sprawled bodies. If he survived this, it was to Angelus Heri would go to ask for redress for the wrong done. But now there were more pressing problems.

 

Heri wasn't happy. If he killed or otherwise harmed his vampire master's other thrall, Angelus would probably kill him. Or Graham would, not angrily, but efficiently. Protecting his friend and fellow, full-sibling thrall.

 

At the very least if the rash and judgmental Riley was hurt, Angelus would beat him to a pulp. So. Heri's only choice, if the human attacked, was to flee with all due haste. The sewers offered him the best chance of escape. But in order to flee to the sewer, he would have to leave Kon and his new, lovely boy alone, unprotected in this unsettled, uncivilized house.

 

Heri did not like that idea. But, he had very little choice, if matters escalated. All other options carried unacceptable consequences.

 

Heri kept his eyes fastened on the two as they came down the steps. He thought he could dodge them as long as he was prepared, and didn't allow himself to be distracted. As thralls they were faster and stronger than they had been, but they were not vampires. He wondered if Angelus would punish them for attacking him, chasing him off. Or killing him.

 

The darker haired, grey eyed man spoke to his companion, his voice even, and to the vampire, reassuring in it's lack of emotion. "Make a sweep. Secure the area." He said, his own weapon, while at the ready, not offering the vampire an immediate threat of harm.

 

The other reacted instantly, moving his weapon's aim away from Heri and roaming further into the dark basement. Heri relaxed a tiny bit. But kept his eyes on the tall one. The tall one was the one who would act on impulse, the other was cool as ice. If he killed anyone, it would be on purpose. Not because he was surprised or upset, stumbling over something he didn't like or understand.

 

"There is no one else here." Heri ventured in his softest, sweetest voice. The voice that had lured hundreds to his bed, to writhe under and in him...and some to die there. Well, he *was* a vampire. "I caught them all. They are all alive." He added, in case that might calm the tall thrall. He had considered killing them, but he'd known that, oddly, Angel didn't like to kill indiscriminately. So they were all breathing.

 

"You drank from them." The disapproval in the man's tone was transmitted without any trouble. He didn't mention the fondling. Riley wouldn't bring that up.

 

Riley was not happy Heri had taken the blood of his fallen enemies. Heri was offended at the man's failure to recognize his right to drink. He bit his tongue to keep from protesting his right. Idiot thrall, to question his *right*. His *blood* right. To the victor goes the spoils. It had always been so.

 

Heri's eyes slid into melted gold. He dropped his lashes down to conceal the welling of the rage revealed by the change.

 

"It is the best way to keep them down and in control." Heri said, lying through his teeth. This man did not understand what he should, as a thrall, have understood. Angelus had not taught him. Angelus had failed to teach what must be taught. Heri felt betrayed.

 

Heri sank his fangs into his own lip to keep from saying it aloud. Biting back a scathing retort, wanting with urgent force to correct the wayward one. It was not his place to whisper the shortcomings of his master to others. And this one would not be able to take much more and not react in uncontrolled anger. More fool he, if he goaded Riley into shooting him.

 

He didn't sense a whole lot of inter-thrall loyalty going on between him and either of the humans. He also belonged to the master, Angelus, the king. Only, he was not fully Angelus', by the other vampire's omission. He was their half-sibling, but they didn't cut him any slack because of it. He stayed very still.

 

A third shadow appeared at the top of the stair. Heri knew this one, too. Wide shoulders, honest and cheerful face, yet a fearsome warrior. The recent addition. Groo. Much more a known quantity, though the newest resident. Heri knew how Groo would react. He would understand Heri's position. That the vampire was only doing what he should. Groo understood winning and losing. He also understood that Heri belonged to Angelus. Heri was not Groo's to punish. The vampire relaxed a bit more.

 

"Are there others to take outside down there?" The champion inquired. Heri watched him come down the steps. Met those dark brown eyes with his flashing, golden ones, eyes that shone in the dimness of the basement. Groo nodded to him, unruffled, unafraid. Heri rose fully to his feet as Groo neared.

 

"Five." Graham answered as Riley finished his round of the basement and shook his head to signify he'd found nothing else. Groo hopped down the rest of the stairs and grabbed the two nearest men. His very presence diffusing the tension. He was up the steps as nimbly as if he wasn't carrying two full grown men by their equipment belts. He made no comment on the dotted blood covering Heri's bare torso.

 

Heri made note of the unusual strength. It would be foolish not to know about such things, or even worse to ignore them. He grabbed two men of his own and dragged them along as he took advantage of the diversion Groo had created to escape up the stairs and out of the basement. He wanted to be well away from Riley.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

The room was white, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the lights. Xander's skin crawled recalling vividly, the cells at the Initiative. He had not liked spending one moment let alone all those days in the impersonal, white cells. He had not liked being on display for the amusement of Dr Walsh. no possiblity of hiding behind the clear Plexiglas walls. He shuddered. The smell in this room hit him like a hammer to his face. His back arched, shoulders hunching.

 

Unlike those small cramped cubicles, this room was long, airy and wide. There was a knot of people at one end, gathered around a dentist's type chair upholstered in white leather. Though most dentist's chairs don't have arm and leg restraints. Or lap belts. Or patients who are gagged and naked in them. Bleeding.

 

Blood dripped, slow and sparkling-thick to splash into the small but growing, irregular pond beneath the naked feet dangling from the end of the chair. They were the only part of the person Xander saw, those terrifyingly vulnerable feet. They were...not good. The color was wrong, they looked slick....Xander sniffed, hackles going up, straight on the back of his neck, he growled. He smelled terror, despair, and pain. And more than one someone in the room was getting off on it. The sickly sharp arousal burned into his sensitive nose.

 

Even as Xander growled, Angel hissed, Balthazar going still under his arm, still as stone, as a un-breathing statue, as death come a calling. All Angel could see was the feet, bare, long and slender, and red, raw, dripping, the skin peeled away. He sniffed at the air involuntarily. Or burned away.

 

One of the hovering group sensed they were no longer alone, looking up, the protective mask on his face dotted with blood. Angel sniffed again. Wesley's blood. Blood that had been spilled in the past to save him. The blood of his friend. The blood of a man he trusted and cared for, who was bound to him. One of his own. Harmed, hurt. Angel felt the fury rise in him like a storm. They would all pay. Every one.

 

Deliberately, Angel lifted his restraining arm from around the trembling, shivering vampire at his side. The vampire master who was smelling the spilled blood of *his* thrall. Every drop *his* alone to spill, *his* to taste, *his* to cherish, and *his* to avenge. The fury of Balthazar took flight.

 

Gunn and Alistair made no move to stop Balthazar, or to aid him as he flew at the figures crowded around his tortured thrall. As he flew his transformed from a semi himan figure, to a monster of legend, a ravening beast, set on only one thing. To tear, to rend , to punish, to kill.

 

The man looking their way had just enough time to scream.

 

Then Balthazar was on him.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Five minutes. The room had been changed in that little time from gleaming white to dripping, drenching, crimson smears and dribbles.

 

Angel scooped up the limp body of Wesley into his arms as Balthazar took out his revenge on the people who had made his thrall into a red ruin. Balthazar could not do other than what he was doing now, handing out vengeance with fang and ripping hands. It was up to his king to care for the man in his arms until Balthazar was recovered and back in control. Wesley was breathing, tiny shallow sips of air, moaning as he was moved, though Angel took care to hold him with all tenderness, his human heart struggling to beat, to cope with the loss of blood, loss that was verging on fatal.

 

Xander was there beside Angel and Wes, as they walked out of the chamber, leaving Balthazar, Gunn and Alistair behind. Wesley could not wait the short time for his master to be done with the punishment dealt out to those who had dared touch what was his. Alistair and Gunn would watch over the dark vampire who was spreading madness, dealing out justice. And when he was done, they would bring him safely home. Until then...

 

Angel would take Wesley back home. To the Hyperion. And they would save him. Heal him or turn him, whichever was needed. Wesley would not be lost. Angel stepped back into the empty elevator, catching Alistair's gaze. Seeing the bruised look in the other vampire's eyes. He nodded. Alistair bowed his head to his king.

 

Then he turned back to bear witness to the horror that was Balthazar's revenge.


	72. Chapter 72

  
Author's notes: Healing Wes. Angel gives his all.  


* * *

Angel lay Wesley down on the bed he had shared with Balthazar for the short time he had been a thrall. Lindsey was right there, sitting on the spread watching as Angel lowered the bloodied body of their friend. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, but wore nothing more.

 

Wesley's head flopped limply to the side. Lindsey had to watch his chest for several long moments before he saw the lift of a single breath. He felt his own ribs seize, his breath caught in his chest by alarm, his heart thundering. The signs were unmistakable. Wesley was dying. He was hanging on by the thinnest thread, and that could unravel and break at any moment. Lindsey knew it without a doubt. He had seen more death that any ten people should have to in his short lifetime.

 

Lindsey let out a small, choked sound. Angel watched tears fill his eyes. This man who reacted to nothing, who's face remained unnaturally still, even once in the face of his own death. Even as Darla, Angel's sire nearly drained him dry, he had not protested, he had resigned himself to it, revealing nothing. She had teased him with annihilation. He had not cried or begged for himself, for his life then. Now for Wesley, he cried.

 

Now, he cried, silent tears. Weeping without pause as he scooted on his knees to Wesley's side. His hands wandering over the man, not quite touching, looking for somewhere his touch would not hurt should it land.

 

Angel looked back at the people huddled in the doorway. Xander, Doyle, Graham, Riley. There was only one he needed in here, only one he, and Wesley, needed in order for the researcher to survive.

 

"Xander." Angel called his thrall. Xander was reluctant to enter the room. His nose was twitching, the scent of his least favorite vampire filled the room. Xander did not want to be in Zar's territory. The hyena in him recognized territorial imperatives. He ducked his head not looking at his master and king.

 

"Xander." Angel called to him again, far softer this time. Xander smelled the death lurking.

 

Doyle pushed into the room, around the stalling were-hyena. His eyes fixed on the ruin that was left after W&H's torturers were done with their craft.

 

"Blessed saints." Doyle murmured, rushing to the bed, climbing up next to Lindsey, their shoulders bumping, neither man noticing. "Wesley?"

 

Angel spared his Consort a touch with one gore soaked hand. He looked at the blood coating his skin. Then he looked back at his resistant thrall, shifting nervously, fighting instinct, wanting to obey but not wanting to invade another, powerful predator's lair. He knew very well how to overcome that reluctance.

 

Angel bit his wrist, holding his hand out over Wesley's torn skin, he let the drops fall as if giving a blessing, a blood sacrifice, showering the researcher with a master vampire's blood, king's blood. Bathing Wesley is the thick fluid that was a siren's call to his were-thrall.

 

Xander's shy head lifted, his gaze sharpened. Yellow orbs focusing with laser precision on his master's blood. He stepped into the room, the smell of Balthazar all but forgotten, overwhelmed by that of Angel's fresh heme. His nostrils flared. Fur shot out all over his body, and he ripped off his clothing as he headed for the bed and Angel's spilled blood.

 

Angel was fairly confident that his blood would have healing properties, and keep Wesley from dying. But it would not treat his wounds or his pain. Xander would do that. Xander's tongue would heal the outward wounds, alleviate the agony. He watched as Xander set to work, his tongue bathing the researcher with long, careful strokes, ignoring the small cries of pain.

 

Patiently Angel set about covering Wesley in his blood, trying not to miss a single square inch. Ensuring Xander's healing would touch all of Wesley.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Heri went back into the basement for a final look around. Riley and Graham had long since left it to him. Heri had told Groo he would finish the basement, and Groo had just nodded his acceptance of that, wandering off to leave it to him. Heri appreciated the trust, seeing it as a tiny bit of structure and cooperation that was otherwise lacking in this new court.

 

Groo, Arthur, Lancelot, Giles and Buffy were talking in the center of the lobby, paying no attention at all to the single, small statured vampire prowling up and down, in and out. That Heri didn't mind. He preferred to be left alone when it came to most of these people.

 

When he came back up the stairs from down below, there was a change in the air. On the third floor there was a little bit of a ruckus going on. Heri could smell that Angelus was back in the hotel. He could also smell the disquiet on the air. It wasn't a threat to safety...it was sadness, and loss. A smell he'd never liked, or become used to.

 

Heri noted the disturbance up the stairs with curiosity. He looked around, seeing people going up towards whatever was happening there. Only the lobby group remained, Buffy still chatting away. Giles was casting repeated glances upwards, but stayed at his Slayer's side. Heri heard no more fighting, no struggling. He looked down at the man he was carrying out of the basement. He'd left this man for last.

 

He didn't really want to throw him out. He hated to lose one who showed such promise. The man had been so lovely in his surrender. Surely he didn't deserve to be sent back to the Wolfram and Hart lawyers, thus wasted by not being taken into the service of Angelus' court. Yes, that is what it would be...a waste.

 

Heri contemplated his decision for less than a second. He could ask Angelus later, for now he would keep the man. His fellow soldiers would assume he had been killed in action. Heri knew the LA Court was not large enough to properly serve and manage Angelus or Los Angeles. This man was needed here, he told himself with satisfaction. For the good of the court. The decision once made pleased him.

 

Heri peered around again. No one was watching or paying attention to him. Surely Angelus needed warriors like this. Heri had won the fight with him, and according to vampire law, should be able to keep him. Not as a thrall perhaps, but as a member of the court, as his servant? Yes, a perfect solution to his dilemma. Heri smiled to himself. Kon would do as he bid, and watch the man as he recovered from his draining.

 

Heri lifted the big commando in his powerful arms. Silently he stole up the steps. Unnoticed he slipped into his empty room, putting the man on the floor next to the bed, hiding him behind it so anyone looking in through the door wouldn't see him right away. It did not feel right to put him into the bed, not until he decided what role the man would have. It took mere seconds to strip him. Then he covered him with a blanket. And snuck back out of the room.

 

Only Kon was looking in his direction when Heri re-emerged. Heri raised one brow at him, letting his wicked smile steal forth. Kon grinned back, knowing Heri was up to something, Kon's fist was tightly locked onto the back of the dark young man's pants. The young man Heri had played with stood rigid, stiff.

 

Heri suddenly wondered which of the men would be the better thrall. The dark one, with the beautiful, sweet skin...and buckets of fear scent pouring off of him, he was better suited to be a courtesan than anything else. Or the commando who was a better soldier and yet, had spread himself so obediently for Heri's victory, when he'd lost. It bore some serious thought and consideration. But, later was soon enough to think that through, for now...Heri smelled...blood. A lot of it. Some of it, too much of it...his king's.

 

Heri followed his nose to Zar's room. He laid his hand against Kon's back, kissing one bare shoulder. "Go to our room." He breathed against his favorite skin in the world. Kon bowed his head, received his due kiss, and obeyed. Pulling the lovely one with him.

 

Heri wormed his way to the front of the spectators. Remus and Romulus weren't here, they were back to watching the captives. But, uncertain, nervous, Graham and Riley were. Doyle shoved his way inside as Heri neared. Spike was further away, Heri heard him talking to his thralls, a querulous tone, a worried one.

 

Graham looked over at the arriving vampire, an unfamiliar look in his eyes. Not knowing what to do, the vampire interpreted. Heri was unsettled by that look from the quiet thrall. As Heri arrived he heard Giles stealing up the stairs behind him, having finally given in to his always active curiosity. Then Heri was able to see inside.

 

Peering into the room, Heri saw Angelus, his ruler. His Master. Angelus who had always been pale, who had always been ivory, who was now close to bloodless, so pale and drained was he, yet still letting his precious life drain into the thrall's mouth, spray over his torn flesh, saving him, preventing his death, even as the vampire neared his own limits.

 

Heri swore, shoving his way further into the room. He ripped his arm open as he went. Did no one notice? Did no one care? Were they that unschooled, good only for killing vampires? Surely not Xander, who was now hungrily licking Angelus' blood from the flesh of the wounded man, oblivious to the needs of his king. And not those crouching by the fallen man's side.

 

Not even the consort noticed, kneeling holding the hand of the man Heri belatedly realized was Wesley. Nor those who waited in the door way, staring, watching, afraid, or unwilling to come closer. Not one of them was giving the king their blood as he shed his own to save one of them.

 

Angelus was giving his own blood in volume to save a thrall that was not his own personal one. A master might give this much to save his own thrall. Might skirt the edges of true death for his own. But it was not lightly done when the thrall was not the master's own. That a king should do it, a king on who's shoulders rested the welfare of them all...Heri was speechless as he ran to his king. And no one knew, nor moved to offer him aid!

 

Heri clambered up onto the bed, pressing his compact but solid body to the one that swayed, holding him steady, his king who was remaining upright only through sheer will, the light on his eyes already dimming. He put his arm to the other vampire's mouth, his other arm looping tightly around Angelus, holding them locked together.

 

"Drink, my king. Drink your thrall's blood." Heri urged when he felt the confused hesitation of Angelus' mouth on his wound. With those few words he reminded Angelus that though he was vampire, he was also Angelus' thrall. And Angelus let his eyes drift shut, exhaustion seizing him. And he drank in the blood of the only one who had known enough to offer him blood.

 

Graham's eyes took in the scene, seeing that Heri had done the right thing. Also seeing in a flash of almost too late insight, he should have offered long before Heri arrived on the scene. Angelus was still bleeding. Heri was far smaller than Angel. His blood would not be enough to sustain Angel. Graham propped his weapon against the wall and shrugged off his shirt. Riley grabbed at him.

 

"What are you doing?" The taller man hissed at him. Graham saw the huge, wary blue eyes. He saw Riley was afraid. He knew Riley should be as ready as he to give Angel what he needed, but he wasn't ready. He wavered in his dedication and his loyalty. Graham had always given all of his loyalty to his commanders, Riley had never done so, always holding a little back. Now was not a time to hold back. Graham squeezed his friend's forearm. He let the forgiveness and understanding show in his eyes.

 

Angel swayed in Heri's hold, the little vampire doggedly held him up, held his master's mouth to his wrist.

 

"No my king." He said in a terrible voice, as Angel fell forward on top of him. Heri rolled him onto his back, straddled him, put his bleeding limb back in Angel's mouth. "My king. Angel! Drink!" It could not be too late!

 

"He needs blood. Now." Graham said, simply. And he went to the bed. Riley stared after him for a split second, tension pouring off of him. Then he swore. Angrily he tore off his own shirt, tossing it aside. And stormed in after Graham.

 

Giles was left, standing alone in the doorway, blinking as the thralls converged on their failing master. He stared at the mass of bodies piled onto the bed. He saw flashes of Xander bent low, licking with his long, animal tongue over someone who was most gravely injured. For a horrified instant he worried the were-hyena might bite the man. But he did not. Xander was careful tending to the raw wounds.

 

Giles could see Doyle bending down, heard the rise and fall of his low, musical brogue, if not the individual words. Saw the one who'd been introduced as Lindsey offering comfort to the man being tended. Saw Angel unmoving at the end of the bed, being fed, first by the small half naked vampire, then by Graham Miller, and lastly, by Riley Finn, Buffy's former love. The thralls moved over him, urgently. Giles watched it all, with the fascination of the Watcher that he was. He never heard the step behind him, never knew he wasn't alone in the door way.

 

A voice behind him made him jump.

 

"What the bleeding hell is going on?" Spike snapped, anxiously. His head was up, his nose sniffing, his blue eyes wide, his strong, marble-pale hand locked around Giles' arm. Involuntarily he shook the Watcher. Giles yelped in pain. Ignoring him, the vampire dropped him. Spike poked his head into the room.

 

He saw only one thing. Angel laid out on the end of the bed, his head bent back, his throat a long white curve, his arm hanging limply off the end of the mattress. His thralls swarming frantically over him as if he were....

 

Spike sprang into the room, galvanized by terror. Angel couldn't be...

 

"Sire!" He yelled.


	73. Chapter 73

  
Author's notes: Understanding.  


* * *

"I admit to being completely flummoxed. I saw Buffy drive a stake into his chest, and it didn't kill him. Hurt him yes...but he did not come close to dying. *I* put my blessed cross on his skin, and nothing... Then this. He gave his blood to heal Wesley, and suddenly he dies?" Giles shook his head. "I can't believe it. How can that just happen?"

 

"He gave it. He wanted and willed Wesley to live. Wesley was dead, Wesley should have died." Alistair said, his voice low, not wishing to disturb any of those resting on the vast bed. Gunn, beside him, shifted and walked to the door, peering out assuring their safety for the thousandth time. The haft of his axe was in his hand, gripped firmly, ready.

 

"A king can offer his own life for the life of another." Alistair explained further.

 

Giles shook his head. "I know Angel, and I know Angelus. He might give his life for...someone he loves, in the heat of a battle. Something like that, when there is no time to decide otherwise... But this way? In cold logic, just to give his life?"

 

"Angel does love Wesley. They have been through much since they came together in Los Angeles." Alistair answered seriously. He put out a hand and lay it atop his pale king's."There is no Angel versus Angelus. There is only one." He told the Watcher. Giles didn't seem to hear him.

 

"What I don't understand is, how? How did this happen? Why isn't he stronger? Why was this enough to...kill him...when nothing else has been?" Giles muttered, tugging on his chin. His eyes behind their smudged lenses were distant, trying to analyze information that didn't fit his previous notion of possibility.

 

"*He* chose to give his life." Alistair said, patiently. He looked down at Angel where he rested on the bed. Xander was tucked in next to the vampire's hip. Curled into a neat ball, snoring softly, as if he, too, were exhausted by the recent events. "It was his choice. That is the difference."

 

"So he can not be killed unless it is his choice to die?" Giles said, slowly, a sense of awe transmitted with the words.

 

Alistair nodded. He interlocked his fingers with those of his king, who slept on. Doyle's head rested on Angel's shoulder, he too slept. Alistair's gaze traveled lower. Graham and Riley, the shorter one spooned protectively behind the larger, lay with Riley's arms looped around Angel's leg. They were knocked out, faces slack, entirely unaware of their surroundings, for once not easily roused to danger.

 

The only one of the thralls awake was the newest addition. Heri, who was firmly positioned between Alistair and Angel's body, under the arm that Alistair held the hand of. Heri looked terribly comfortable there, the older vampire thought. Pleased, and relieved. His mouth was graced by the faintest of satisfied smiles, his lips drooped to half mast. Drowsy, but awake and vigilant.

 

A loud, vibrating snore sounded as Xander turned over. Then it was quiet again. Giles watched it all. Angel had chosen to die to save Wesley. But, these beings here, his motley mix of thralls, wouldn't let him. These men and one vampire had refused to let him go. They had brought Angel back from his death. Just as Angel had brought Wesley. The little, untrustworthy vampire, the one that made Giles quite nervous, had been the one to act first.

 

Giles shook his head in amazement, as Gunn stood guard, and Alistair continued to sit, holding his king's hand, a silent, patient sentinel, one who would let nothing disturb or harm his ruler. Giles could do nothing but marvel at this odd assortment of creatures Angel had brought together. Then his brain managed to cycle through the rest of what Alistair had said.

 

"What do you mean by that! Angel is not at all the same man as Angelus!" He hissed furiously. Alistair just looked at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips. And Giles felt more confused than ever seeing the knowing in those lovely eyes.

 

"He is only one. He has always been only one." Alistair said.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike stalked back and forth in front of Angel's bed, stiff with indignation. He still shook from the experience of seeing his Sire sprawled limp, with seemingly no spark of life left in him. Spike's eyes told him Angel was well and truly dead, and nothing in that horrifying moment had contradicted his first assessment.

 

Heri's face had confirmed it for him, the anguish in the small vampire's face, the desperation, desolation, the way he held Angel, keening against his throat, calling him with the sound of pure, anguished mourning. Spike had reached his Sire in a startlingly fast spurt of panicked speed. So fast the air itself had made a sound at his passing.

 

He fell to his knees as the side of his Sire reaching, his chest filled with a ball of unendurable pain.... And Angel's hand had twitched. Spike almost died himself when he saw that. He seized the lax hand, and felt it against his own skin, the sluggish response, the twitch of life. And his relief had been so profound he wondered at it, before he was swamped by rage birthed from the so-great fear.

 

"I thought you were dead!" Spike shouted at the tired looking vampire who was sitting propped up on pillows. The thralls were surrounding Angel, in various levels of alertness. Some unrousable still, others like Xander, fully awake after their rejuvenating nap with their miracle master.

 

Xander perked up at that shout, sending a growl towards the blond vampire Childe. Heri lifted his head and sent Spike a look that warned him he was being *watched* closely.

 

"Oh shut it, Harris!" Spike snarled back. He didn't even bother responding to Heri's gaze, just flapped an annoyed hand in the petite vampire's direction.

 

Angel rubbed his throbbing temples with his one free hand. He had a hell of a headache. But, he could also understand Spike's need to do this now. Angel just wished the headache was gone, or less, or...that spike didn't need to yell so loud. He sighed.

 

"I didn't mean to frighten you." He said softly to his upset Childe. Spike flushed.

 

"Wasn't scared..." He protested, without an ounce of conviction in his tone. Then he contradicted himself. "Not mean to frighten me? You were laying there like a great lump, you were. Pasty white, you were. Not breathing or moving. What the bloody hell was I to think?" Spike yelled again, whirling to face Angel full on, hands on his hips, glaring.

 

"And if you'd died saving him? What about the rest of us? Not a one of us in this bleeding hotel would have lived much past you. Well...maybe Alistair and Gunn, maybe..." He amended. "But the rest of us, even Wesley Wyndham--blah--blah Pryce, would have sodding well died without you! Swear to me, as my Sire, you won't do that again!"

 

"I am sorry, William. I can not promise you that." Angel said softly. Spike glared, emotions flitting faster than Angel could read them across the handsome, sculpted face of his chosen Childe.

 

"Will...." Even softer. Angel held out his arms. Spike froze, looking at him suspiciously.

 

"Come here Spike." Angel told him. Total shock writ itself across Spike's features. Spike stayed where he was for a beat, then he launched himself at the larger vampire. Slamming into his chest, jostling all who were on the bed. Xander whined questioningly, Heri grunted, Doyle mumbled irritably, and the twined two, Graham and Riley, slept on, oblivious.

 

Angel gathered Spike in to his body, enfolding him in his long, strong arms as Spike snuffled his face into the crook of his Sire's neck, his nose already running and his eyes gone all humiliatingly teary.

 

"Thought you were dead and gone." Spike wailed. "Thought you were dead."

 

"Shhhh. Hush, Will." Angel spoke into the soft white blond hair of his favored Childe. "I am fine, William. I am fine." He kissed the top of Spike's head, his forehead. "Don't worry so much, Childe."

 

Spike fought between his dual wants. To throw a temper tantrum and tell his Sire just how he felt about being scared out of his wits by Angel taking chances like that....Or the temptation that sang a seductive siren's song....for him to relax, to melt into the arms that so rarely held him, that he so rarely could find a plausible excuse to lay in.

 

He chose, wisely, to bite his tongue and lay in cozy relief in his Sire's sheltering and enfolding embrace. He let out a gusty sigh, contented, and with it he let the last of his fear go, fading away, his eyelids sliding shut. He snuggled into the big, wide chest, purring. Angelus was....warm....Spike couldn't find the energy to worry about it, a warm vampire...just one more mystery....one more unanswered question. He drifted off.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Remus peered out into the hallway from the large janitor's closet. No one was there. Romulus was watching from the room where they had been holding the Initiative's soldiers. He nodded, telling his twin the coast was clear at his end of the hall, both brothers anxious over their little act of rebellion. But... well..it was necessary, wasn't it?

 

Remus lifted the mercenary in his arms, the man's arms ties with torn strips of shirt and trousers, and stole like a silent shadow down the hall. He flitted into the large room, utterly silent on feet quiet as cat's paws, Romulus closing the door snugly behind him. They had defeated this soldier. He was theirs by right. He had fought hard and valiantly. He was worth begging for when they found time for an audience with the recovering king. Remy patted the man, Romu coming up to his side after turning the lock on the door.

 

Quickly they undressed him, hiding his uniform under the edge on one of the couches. They Initiative soldiers watched, silent, from their positions on the chairs and sofas in the room. They were wrapped in a collection of blankets, finally lured away from their huddled mass against the wall. They made no comments, asked no questions. just observed the not-to-be-questioned actions of their very strange captors.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Fred let the Pylean Champion into the room after his knock. She held a hair dryer in one hand, a towel over one shoulder, bundled into a fluffy green and blue flowered terry cloth robe. She and a blanket wrapped Anders were in the main room. Lorne was in the bathroom, and not alone. Groo contemplated the man who was being tended to in the super-sized, glass-doored shower. The man might be naked, but Groo recognized him, or at least what he was. He didn't even have to see the discarded, black cammo uniform on the bathroom floor.

 

It certainly had not been Groo's intention to intrude. He had come up here to speak with Lorne and Fred after the battle was over. He had intended to do so while they were downstairs. But when he'd looked around...they were gone, along with the young blond who had fought so hard and so well while wearing only two small bands of minimally concealing elastic fabric. Groo found that man's effort admirable, and wondered if the clothing had been deliberately chosen to distract the enemy fighters. It had proved a very effective technique. Groo himself had stumbled at the first when he'd caught sight of the lush, round buttock bursting through torn cloth.

 

He wanted to pass on his admiration, and to take the opportunity to talk with the two he'd come to know well on his last visit. He had not planned to find Lorne bathing one of the enemy in Fred's bathroom. From the expression on the strange man's face...this was also the last place he expected to end his night.

 

Lorne raised his head and looked at Groo when the Pylean Champion stopped in the doorway.

 

"I did not mean to intrude." Groo offered the apology, politely.

 

"Come in." Lorne responded. "I am almost done. He was covered in blood. A little scalp wound, you know how those just bleed and bleed. Had to get him all cleaned off before I could put him to bed." Lorne explained. The man's expression turned mulish as he stood rock still, and Lorne ran the wash cloth over him a final time, not missing the tiniest bit of skin in passing. Groo was willing to bet the man's prior objections to his current circumstances had not met with a receptive audience in Lorne.

 

"Are you...." Groo thought about how to phrase his next question. Lorne was from Pylea. Pyleans tended to collect likely humans or lesser demons and just...keep them. Like humans kept pets. On Pylea Groo would think of them as slaves, whether or not he agreed with the practice. Here on earth...well, they weren't slaves, or at lest they weren't called slaves. He grinned at the twisting of words and meanings, well, he could but ask.

 

"Are you going to keep him?" He asked. And the soldiers mouth turned down in an impossible to misinterpret, very unhappy frown. Huh, Groo thought. That answers that, doesn't it. He didn't even have to wait for Lorne's affirmative reply.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Spike's eyes flew open. He had fallen asleep for a few minutes, held secure against Angel's body. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Until the second reason he'd sought out Angel came back to his consciousness. Oh, shit. How could *that* bit of trouble have slipped his mind? Well, it wasn't like a vampire's sire chose to die every day....but he couldn't put it off any longer.

 

"Uh. Peaches?" He whispered. Heri, stubbornly snugged into Angel's side met Spike's blue gaze. Spike could not miss the wary look there. Just great, just what he needed, an audience for the very necessary begging and groveling to follow.

 

"Hmm?" Angel's voice rumbled under Spike's cheek.

 

"Uh. I need t' talk ta ya 'bout something. But you gotta promise not to get mad. Or at least not at... It's not his fault. I think it was because of the heat thing. He's not all over it yet. Not making rational decisions. And I think it was because of that. So you can't get mad at him, cause it's instinct you know." Spike stumbled to a halt. "A man can't fight instinct." He said rather more firmly than he felt.

 

"What should I not be mad at Oz for?" Angel prompted sleepily. Angel was petting Spike's back, making the younger vampire's eye roll up in his head, tempting him to just put it off a bit longer, and enjoy the comfort. But he couldn't. This was Oz he was trying to protect and to defend.

 

"You can punish me if you want. But not him. He didn't mean to do it. He couldn't help it..." Spike persisted. "If ya need to bat someone around and pound your chest so we know who is in charge...I can take it." Spike offered bravely.

 

"William." Angel interrupted, gently. "Tell me."

 

"...uh...hekeptoneofthecommandos." Spike blurted out. "...refusestogivehimup...."

 

Angel scooted up a little higher. He stroked the tense muscles along the back of Spike's neck. He'd been expecting something like this. Vampires who lived in the security of a court, even one still as unstable as this one, loved to collect strays and trophies. Sort of nesting habit as it were. He let out a long-suffering sigh, hiding his indulgent smile.

 

"Oz....kept....one of Wolfram and Hart's mercenaries?" He asked, just to be sure he understood. Spike nodded against his chest, tense as a white supremacist strolling alone at a Louis Farakan rally.

 

"OK." Angel said, mildly. Spike stared. And next to him Heri went very still. They were all quiet for several long seconds, then....

 

"Uhm, Angelus? My king?" The small vamp dared. Angel sighed again.

 

"Here we go." He thought. "Yes, my thrall?" He acknowledged. Only two. Not so bad, he'd expected more. He kept his face serious as Heri looked up into it.

 

"Uh...." Heri began, nervously licking his lips.


	74. Chapter 74

  
Author's notes: Zar returns. Angel assesses his court.   


* * *

Balthazar walked up the stairs of the Hyperion hotel, head held high. He was drenched, head to foot in crimson, triumphant in the life blood of his vanquished enemies. Behind him...the tracks of smeared and bloody footprints as he progressed. His body sang with the victories. The liquid that had given them life now surged in his veins. He had avenged his thrall. He had taken lives to teach others not to touch what belonged to him. They had fallen before him like chaff. He growled low in his chest, his hands curling into fists as he remembered.

 

Groo coming out of the kitchen stopped dead, sandwich in his mouth, bite half done. His eyes went from the dripping vampire to the trail of scarlet left in his wake. Balthazar continued on as if he wasn't there, as if he had only one thing on his mind. He went up the stairs.

 

Groo lowered the sandwich, swallowed hard and went back into the kitchen. He wrapped the sandwich and put it into the refrigerator. His appetite was long gone.

 

Remus was curled up on the floor outside Balthazar's rooms, the outside guard. Zar wondered absently who was the inside guard. Remus alerted to his presence a split second later. His head snapped around, nose flaring. He met the glowing golden eyes for less than a second, then averted his gaze. He backed away on hands and knees as Balthazar advanced, keeping his head low to the floor, hips high, telegraphing his submissiveness, wary eyes on the soaked figure. He didn't stop until he was at the far end of the hall, where he froze, waiting.

 

Balthazar stopped at the door to his room. Wesley was there, the scent of his thrall overwhelming, urging him to hurry inside, to touch and handle the man. And with him was the sent of his second thrall, Lindsey, teasing and compelling, drawing his attention. Balthazar drew in a breath, letting the two scents combine into one awareness, one flavor. A smell that lured and welcomed him home. He was still in gameface, adrenaline coursing through his body, the level of the fighting hormones only just starting to lower. Right now they still rushed through him in great shivering, ecstatic waves.

 

He was shocked he had not remembered anything of finding Wesley at the W&H location. He remembered only Angel leaving, carrying his thrall, then blood, and yelling, screaming, and glorious, ripping revenge. That was all. Now as he stepped into his room, and saw his thralls, other smells assailed him. Smells that reminded him his thrall was hurt, injured, and he did not know how badly. His hackles started to rise.

 

He stepped further into the room, his eyes going to the bed, to Wesley, awake but weak, with Lindsey next to him curled around him, protectively, stroking the dark, short hair back from Wesley's damp forehead. And standing guard, Alistair and Gunn, one light, one dark, both solemn faced, taking care, once they saw who was there, saw it was him, stepping out of the path between him and his thralls.

 

Wesley's face looked bruised, purpled, his skin swollen and tender. His eyes looked sunken, and he smelled...Balthazar frowned. The was the scent of the were-thrall, Xander, and of Angel, and too many others, mingling together as if they had all rubbed and touched him, rolled against him. Balthazar rumbled unhappily, baring his fangs. He stepped another foot into the room, glowering at the standing men, and skirted them watching for any sudden threat as he made for the bed. Red dripped down from his hanging arms in long, ropy, clotted strands.

 

Alistair moved slowly to place himself between Gunn and Balthazar. Balthazar gifted the two with a glimpse of his claiming fangs, his eyes glossy and dark gold in his gore smeared face. It was a challenge by a vampire recently glutted on fighting and blood. A wise challenge to decline and retreat from. Even for a vampire as old and powerful as Alistair.

 

"Turn your face away." Alistair whispered to Gunn, not wanting Gunn to see the four fangs, the double set, that a vampire only reveals to his or her claimed thralls. Gunn never hesitated, obeying, sensing the precarious truce that hung in the balance between Balthazar and Alistair.

 

Alistair edged towards the door, his sword loosely gripped, but ready, keeping Gunn behind him. If Balthazar reacted, he would meet Alistair, not the new-made thrall, but the ancient and resourceful vampire. Alistair hoped that fact would give the dark vampire pause. Balthazar watched them move, his head turning with every gliding step.

 

Alistair knew Balthazar needed to be alone with his thralls, to reaffirm the tentative bonds that he felt were threatened by the odors of so many others. Balthazar was increasingly nervy, restless, challenged by the myriad scents. They all put to test his ownership, and angered him. He had lowered his secret fangs in front of others. Time was short. Gunn had to be removed and kept safe. Zar should be left alone with Wesley and Lindsey before he felt his ownership being challenged.

 

The scents were all wrong. So many others. Perhaps they had all been necessary to care for Balthazar's injured thrall, but every extraneous scent now escalated his restless drive to reassert himself as their master. Alistair would give him time to bond with them. He would willingly turn over their care and protection to the wild, primal master who now made his threat display even more aggressive by letting out a deep growling hiss that grew in pitch.

 

With careful relief Alistair reached the door and exited, his own much valued thrall with him, behind him, protected and well. He pulled the door shut. Balthazar locked it. The snick of the blot loud and final.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Balthazar washed the bruised skin of his thrall while Lindsey held him up, Wesley leaning weakly on the shorter man. Blood and tissue sluiced off of the vampire attending to the washing, and Lindsey hoped it would all be gone before Balthazar took them back to his bed. He did not relish being taken with the body fluids and chunks of flesh smeared over them all.

 

Lindsey's wish was granted when Balthazar pushed them aside, out of the shower, and scrubbed himself while Lindsey muscled the other man across the tiles and sat Wes on the toilet and dried him with one of the fluffy, white towels. It came away clean, Wesley leaning tiredly forward, elbows braced on knees, letting Lindsey silently dry him. Lindsey marveled. A few short hours ago, this man had been all but dead.

 

Balthazar came out of the steam, and lifted Wesley without a word, carrying him out of the bathroom, leaving Lindsey to follow. Lindsey sighed. He turned the water off, dried himself, and carried a third towel out into the bedroom in case the vampire would allow it's use.

 

Lindsey came to a stop at the side of the bed. Wesley lay on his back, Zar over him, covering his body, licking the side of his throat, slowly, lingeringly. Lindsey bit his tongue on the words of caution that rose up to his lips, only just keeping them from being voiced. He feared for Wesley if the vampire drank. He was not strong enough to lose much blood. But, Lindsey also knew the type of male his vampire master was. Not one to take kindly to hearing the objections of his thrall.

 

But Zar did not drink. He only tasted, licked, and let his scent sink into the researcher's skin. Lindsey carefully smoothed the towel over the damp skin of the vampire's back, soaking up the drops of water there, then returned the towel to the rack. He came back, and after a moment's indecision, knelt at the side of the bed in Zar's view, and waited.

 

The dark hands stroked over every last inch of healing skin, learning all of it, all of the injuries and indignities that had been done to his human. Like feathers, his fingertips explored, too gently to cause any hurt, or pain, over arms, legs, chest, and belly, then turning him, over his back and buttocks and even between his legs.

 

Lindsey watched the examination, recognizing it's intent, to discover any and all of what had happened to Wesley. This Zar was not the one who had coupled with him, silent and deadly, vibrating with unleashed fury, harsh and firm in demanding his surrender before the search for and rescue of Wesley. This was a new master for him. The eyes were harder, but warmer, stronger but less likely to maim and strike out. There was more strength here, in the golden predator's gaze, and far more control, terribly earned, but a great boon.

 

Lindsey watched, and relaxed. Balthazar was coming into his own. The fear he had held for Wesley's safety faded. And that was all Lindsey had wanted. All he'd dared ask for. To find safety for himself and for Wes.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

"All of them." Angel said, patiently. He looked from face to face, and waited. He saw Riley reluctantly move out of the door and heard him climb up the stairs to the fourth floor, grumbling. Graham watched his friend go, his face revealing a rare surprise. A moment later Riley led another mercenary into the room, pushing him down to the floor in front of Angel. Angel only just kept the smile from his lips.

 

Angel looked at the motley collection in front of him. Lorne had reluctantly surrendered one mercenary, wrapped in nothing but a towel. The man was angry and defiant, holding tight to his covering, but not speaking out, warily watching the large green demon, who's horns were back to their normal length. Angel wondered how great a role in *that* this prisoner had played, if any. Lorne had brought both Fred and a very awake Anders with him this time. Anders was much more conservatively dressed in jeans and t shirt, than when he'd been fighting.

 

The next two mercenaries were the ones Remy and Romu had captured. The two brothers had growled and protested being told to bring the men out and present them to Angel. But Angel's eye had bent to them, and they wisely stopped whining, and led the men out, bundled in comforters and with short leashes of torn and knotted cammo cloth around their necks. Angel bit his lip. Even now the twins hovered anxiously near, ready to jump in if anyone else tried to claim their prizes.

 

Oz had brought his prisoner, the werewolf hanging his head, as if he couldn't understand his behavior, and willingly turned the man over to Angel, retreating to huddle against Spike, Nic sheltering him from the side that Spike didn't. Sam was a step back from all of them, eyes big, not missing a thing as he grumbled under his breath, swearing, gaze darting from prisoner to prisoner.

 

Heri brought his commando forward, holding his big, scarred hand, the huge man, dark eyed and brown skinned, curiously a mixture of acquiescence and power. Latin, Angel guessed, and not young, maybe thirty, thirty five, with lots of fighting under his belt. His craggy face was perhaps handsome in a mature way, but also a bit weathered and worn from years under a harsh sun.

 

"My king, my master," Heri whispered, kneeling and pulling the man bigger down next to him. The man went without resistance, Angel noted. "I have found my second thrall, if I may have your blessing on it." He bowed his head and waited while Angel considered his request.

 

"Why him, and not the other one?" Angel asked, curious. His eyes sought out and found the black skinned soldier from the Initiative ranks. He was back among his fellow soldiers and seemed happy to be there, much happier than he'd been at Heri's side.

 

"He is delicious, but too soft. Too tender. A lovely morsel to play with, and to spoil. But as delicious as he is, he is not a fighter. I would have the fighter, lovers worth a dalliance are many, but a warrior is a rare find." Heri purred, looking up into the big man's face. The man flushed red, but made no protest. Heri lifted their joined hands and licked the back of the man's hand. His eyes shuttered to half mast as the man's muted gasp was heard by every one in the room. Heri cast a seductively satisfied, sloe-eyed glance Angel's way.

 

"Lust." Angel said, not bothering to hide his smile. "That is what I see. But if it is what you want, and you have carefully reasoned your request to me, so be it. He will still train with the others and fight with them. But he will be your second thrall."

 

Remus and Romulus jumped forward. "May we keep ours as well, my king?" They asked in perfect unison, shoulder to shoulder.

 

"As thralls?" Angel asked them. They nodded. "Are you certain?"

 

"Yes. We took them in battle. It is how thralls should be taken. From the fallen foes who have fought well." Romu asserted. Remy nodded his agreement. Angel sighed, but found he had no reason to refuse.

 

"Very well. You may lay claim to them, I will aid you with it at *my* leisure. But they, as Heri's thrall, will train with the others and be part of the my court's army." Angel reminded the brothers. They bowed to him, before retreating, much more clearly pleased than they had been but moments ago.

 

Angel looked around. "Anyone else?" There was a shifting of feet and an exclamation. Then silence for several long beats. Giles broke into the void.

 

"Buffy." Giles' voice was low and firm. "We agreed."

 

"But..." The slayer began, her voice holding a shrill note of complaint. "Giles, I got him fair and square! He is mine! Why do they get to keep theirs and I don't?"

 

"Because, Buffy, you are the Slayer. You are not a king or a queen to....possess another human being. I am not saying it is wrong for everyone to do so...but it is not the right thing for the Slayer to do." Despite being gentle the tone was the deadliest anyone had heard from the Sunnydale watcher. The Ripper speaking, not the librarian, not even the man who had taken to patrolling with the Slayer. The Ripper.

 

"I don't want Angel to have him." Buffy said at last, scuffing her toe along the carpet. "I mean, *I* beat him, so...shouldn't I...."

 

"Buffy." Giles said with incredible patience. His expression was utterly serious. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked right into her eyes. "I think it is past time we went home."

 

Giles looked into his Slayer's rebellious face for several minutes then he straightened. He turned and met Angel's eyes. "Please, excuse us, I don't believe Los Angeles has been a good influence on my charge."

 

Giles turned towards Arthur and Lancelot. "We will be packing." He said. "If it is still your intention to join us...we will be leaving in about half an hour." Then, putting an arm around Buffy, holding her tenderly against himself, he led her out of the room. For the second time in just a few minutes the room was utterly quiet.

 

Arthur stepped forward and bowed. Lancelot was at his shoulder, both men standing erect and proud.

 

"We will take our leave now. It has been our privilege to meet you, Angelus Aurelius. Rule well. You have the strength within you to be a great and fair monarch. If ever I can give you counsel or aid, do not hesitate to ask." Arthur offered his hand to the other king. Angel grasped it tightly, liking this former king of Britain. He shook Lancelot du Lac's hand next. Then Arthur and Lance stepped back in unison.

 

Groo moved up and clasped both men in a hug. "I will miss you. Go with honor, and fight well."

 

"And you, our brother." Lancelot said. "We will also miss you. You freed us from our torment of boredom, and let us serve the worlds as champions, we owe you a debt that can never be repaid."

 

"It was the least I could do." Groo returned. He watched with a smile on his face as the two men, Eternal Champions once more, turned and left the room.

 

He felt no regret, only happiness that they had found a cause worth fighting for. He knew his place was here. He harbored no doubts. He took his place at Angel's right. He was the Champion of Angel's court now. He had found his home.


	75. Chapter 75

  
Author's notes: Torment...and sex.  


* * *

Wesley woke laying on his side, a pillow tucked up under his cheek. A cool length was stretched out long and lean against his back, a shield between him and the locked door. Muzzily he shifted, pushing more firmly into the security of the slender body behind him, at the same time tugging the blankets up higher, until they were up to his chin. He shivered, but he wasn't exactly cold. He was frightened and that was far worse than being cold.

 

 

In front of him was the much warmer body of Lindsey MacDonald. Lindsey was toasty warm, like a giant hot water bottle, the light fur of his chest hair, smooth and fine under Wesley's hand. Wesley curled his arm in tighter, hugging Lindsey to him. His nose was buried in the fragrant, slightly damp curls behind Lindsey's ear. He was more tired than he could describe. His heart was pounding as if he'd run a marathon, not merely woken from a restless, uneasy sleep.

 

His skin felt tight and thick and almost as if it were plastic, not living flesh. It felt unfamiliar, like he had stepped out of reality into a dream, like he might actually be asleep now. A dream where he was safe. He frowned, unwilling to believe it. He felt certain there was something he had forgotten, something terrible. Then he gasped as the memory of his time at the hands of W&H's torturers-in-residence returned. He grimaced at the sudden acid taste in his mouth, choking down the bile that rose.

 

His torment at the hands of Faith crowded in for it's time on this hellish memory lane. As if he was being dared to remember both times at once, to face them and remember every slip of the knife.... And to not be overwhlemed.

 

Or to forget. Forget everything. Forget who he was, and what had happened to him. Forget the clamoring question of why. Why, when most people lived their lives without ever being tortured, stabbed, or having their throats slit...why did these things keep happening to him? Why was he destined for this kind of torment?

 

Wesley struggled to a sitting position, he had to in oder to breathe. It hurt, but in a distant, aching way. Not sharp and immediate. He should have been hurting more. He recalled the time after Faith had sliced his flesh into ribbons, before she had reformed, healed her spirit within. He had hurt terribly then. But now, he could sit up, it was not easy, but he didn't scream. After Faith, he had screamed. He stole tiny gulps of air, fighting for calm.

 

When he moved, Lindsey woke. Turning his head, the dark blond of his curls brushing across Wesley's hip. A tiny satin caress that Wesley wished he could appreciate. But the trembling of his body and the rough catch of breath in his chest took the pleasure from him. How many days had he lost to feel so little pain?

 

"Wes?" The whisper barely made it to his ear. "Are you alright?"

 

Wesley shook his head, his teeth beginning to chatter. Meaning no, he was not alright, and also no, he didn't know what he needed to be alright. Lindsey came up next to him, an arm stealing around him, holding him, warm against the patches of his healing skin. Holding tight, strong, small as he was, Lindsey was solid.

 

"What is it?" The lawyer asked, his lips against Wesley's shoulder as he to sat, raising bumps over the taller man's skin. Wesley shook his head again. He could not find the words to say.

 

He felt/saw the hands, the tools raking over him, Faith's knife, the blade slipping into him, under his skin. The blade, slick and cool/hot, unbearably sharp and sudden, lifting his skin, layer by sensitive, nerve rich layer. The sense-memory of it all roared back at him, smashing into him, until he choked on the scream building in his throat, barely keeping it from getting out. Afraid to make any sound. Not knowing if he was safe here. Or if it was a trick being played cruelly on him. A trick to get him to trust. To let his guard down....

 

Ah, Christ no! He could not bear it, going through this again. The air in his chest turned to mud, to thick and viscous fluid that refused to move in and out, that clogged his chest, his lungs filled with it, willing him to die, to strangle and choke and give up, and...die. To flee the pain, the fear, the uncertainty. To die. Please, die.

 

'Don't do this to me again....' Wesley implored the fates, the PTB. But it was too late.

 

Faith bent over him, looking into his eyes, meeting his eyes with an intimacy no one else had ever granted him, or taken from him. Not like she had. She had taken the last of his dignity, the last of his reserves, opened him like a flayed fish, coaxed raw screams from his throat, swallowing them up into her smile, giving him her approval, her enjoyment of his suffering under her hand. He had shrieked for her. His heart, his being, his everything laid bare to her all seeing eye.

 

And for the next months, the best part of a year, he had relived it over and over again. With her, sitting by his bed, ghostly in the night, reminding him of her mastery over him. Of her control of him, of how he had given it all up to her. In blood, in emotion, in pain, and in surrender. She had been his lover, his mistress, his queen, taking him and using him, and never once touching him sexually, yet she had drawn more from him than anyone who had. And he had screamed for her.

 

A sob caught in his throat as he fought against the choking memory. Lindsey was holding him, pressing them together. Lindsey was calling him. But the new pictures, the new sensations, the new tortures, they brought everything back. Another year of this. Of dreaming and waking with the feel of blades shaving off his skin by the thinnest fractions, of the purest pain he had ever felt. The tautly held breath of those who cut, and observed as they peeled him..... Made real and fresh and present. He was dying. He struggled in the arms that held him, that restrained him, but were not strong enough to save him... He lashed out, missed....

 

Then...cool strength had him. A hand taking him by the neck and bending him, so his throat was arched and bared, a vulnerable offering. His body out of his command and control, his hands, his wrists held in a single hand's grip. Oh, Ghod that strength, that power, it was enough. He was safe. Taken and handled and owned by the vampire. The one who had the will to tame him. To command him, to make what had happened fade away. Balthazar. This was what he had needed, why he had gone to the vampire, the secret he himself had not known. He needed Zar to save him from the dreams. To break him free of Faith and her knife.

 

The faces that had been bending over him, the hands that had been clutching at him, holding him down despite all his struggles...they were gone. Balthazar sank his fingers into Wesley's hair, cupping the back of his skull, fisted his hand, using the short strands like a handle to hold Wesley immobile. Wesley strained against the grip, until the cool, inflexible voice of his master filled him. Until he met the golden eyes that burned fire out of the dark.

 

"Do not fight me, thrall." It washed over him, liquid ice and burning heat combined. Cool, but hot. Balthazar leaning in, down, a dark shadow hanging over him, with those eyes of molten metal. Wesley let out a whimper. "I have you, Wesley. No one else.*I* have you."

 

Wesley let out the sob, and it shook him to his marrow.

 

Lindsey felt his friend relaxing in fits and starts. His tensed frame easing, jerkily becoming more and more relaxed. An arm, a leg, his belly, going soft, limp, surrendering his will.

 

Wesley swallowed, gulped in air. "Z-Z-Zar?" His voice quavered. The vampire's hands were moving on him, stroking him, taking possession of him. Only Zar had touched him like this. Like he was owned, not borrowed. Like he belonged to the vampire, was possessed completely and fully, was not being toyed with, like he was bought and paid for. Breaking through the sheild that held Wesley together, as if it were not there.

 

"Yes." The vampire said, scraping his fangs along the curve of neck meeting shoulder. Wesley moaned, feeling the wash of goosebumps steal over him from neck to knees. Lindsey's warm, warm hands cupped his face. Cradled his chin, his cheeks as the clacking chatter of his teeth slowed, then finally stopped.

 

"Better?" Lindsey asked him. Wesley closed his eyes. As close to a nod as he could come now, with Zar latched onto his nape, teasing him with too sharp teeth. Wesley let out a hitching gasp, stuttering in steps, until his trapped breath had been released. Lindsey petted him, thumbs stroking his mouth, his, face, his brows, over his closed lids, lightly, caressingly. Tender. Safe. Not erotic. Not seductive. Safe. Love.

 

Wesley turned his head. Let his mouth rest half open on Lindsey's palm. Taking in the smell of Lindsey's skin as he drew in air, feeling the other man's body close to his, the heat from both of them combining, contrasting with the cool vampire beside them.

 

"Wesley. Sweet. My little slave." Zar whispered as he half-nibbled, half-bit across the Englishman's collar bone. He licked, broad flat swipes of his tongue, tasting the sweat, the essence of his thrall. Wesley didn't know until then how tight his skin could pull. How taut across his bones. How much he could want...without taking. He waited. Felt the sting of a fang not carefully guided pierce his flesh, the suck of pursed lips fastening, drawing out the tiny beads of blood. Not enough to drain, nor to nourish, only enough to tease, tempt and drive them both nearer the edge. To bring Wesley the affirmation he sought. That Zar had him.

 

He scooted, his hips resting snug in the cradle of the vampire's crossed legs, so his butt was in the nest created, his buttocks against Balthazar's pelvis, the vampire's feet snugged up under Wesley's opposite thighs, his head falling back to lay on the darkly flexed bicep of the vampire.

 

And Lindsey in front of him, his hands roaming over Wesley's face hidden in the dimness, down his throat, stroking the skin, over his shoulders, his chest. Quick, light touches. Lindsey coming closer, so close that Balthazar's hands darted out, grabbed him, his chin, and pulled him in, hard against Wes, and sank his fangs into Lindsey's undefended jugular.

 

Wesley was caught between them as they grappled. Lindsey not going quietly, but holding on fiercely, his fingers digging. Zar twisting him, forcing Lindsey to submit to him. Lindsey's breath coming fast and harsh, little moaning cries that started with each draw of the vampire at his neck, each mouthful of blood he took. Zar turning all his frustrated lust, his need to take and demand onto Lindsey, who unlike Wesley was not injured, and could be taken, forced.

 

"Fight me." Balthazar freed his mouth for long enough to order it. Though it was hardly necessary as Lindsey was already fighting to free himself. He wedged his arm up under the dark man's chin, straining as Zar bent down and sank his fangs into the succulent, blood rich flesh.

 

"Fight me." Zar whispered.

 

Lindsey fought as he was bent back, pinned by an expert move, as Zar purred his pleasure at the struggle the man could never win. Wesley was put aside, but gently, with care for his state of healing so the vampire could focus on the writhing man underneath him. Lindsey now the full focus of Balthazar's desire.

 

The thick scent of lust tinged fear filled the vampire's senses and he bore down, grasping the strong thighs in his even stronger hands, squeezing, flipping the man over onto his front, lifting his hips, pressing his shoulders down, leaning his weight into it. Moving in behind, letting the aroused length of him brush teasingly, threateningly over Lindsey's exposed core. Just the tip of him, hard and wet, precum dripping in thick stings along the soft skin between balls and anus. Lindsey's scent altering, subtle, to fear tinged lust.

 

Lindsey jerked at the touch in his most intimate area, crying out, Wesley's hands gripping his arm, steadying him their legs interlocking, tangling. Balthazar grimacing his approval, hissing it as he bent over reaching, and came back his hands slick, thumbs circling the tight entrance. Lindsey let out his achingly deep, trembling moan, Wesely's murmured words, indecipherable to the other man, but necessary, reassuring. Lindsey going still, his breath coming shallow, anticipating, wanting, waiting. The waves of shivers never slowing. Breath finally held, lungs expanded, waiting....

 

And Balthazar slid his thumb into the heat, smooth and dominant taking what was his to take, a tiny stretch that sent a quiver up the man's spine and caught his breath for an instant before it rushed out in an longer, sweeter, begging, plea-soaked moan. Balthazar grinning, his teeth baring predator's grin against the hunched curve of shoulder as he whispered his urgings into Lindsey's hearing. Wesley's palm offering a counterpoint, a gentle difference as the fellow thrall petted his sweat dewed cheek. Lindsey suckled on the finger that came near his mouth, drawing it in, abrupt, biting, nursing.

 

"Good, hot, slick. Mine to take, to pleasure, to fill. Give it to me, little slut." Zar's growled instructions burst like little flames in Lindsey's ear, flying down his bowed spine on scurrying feet to lodge in his pelvis, to throb. His center gone all liquid need, burning for more, though he was hardly stretched, hardly ready. And Balthazar knowing that, reading his want, thrust a second digit inside, stretching on the edge of too much, to fast, burning.

 

Lindsey shook, his thighs giving way as much as they could, his hips melting, his breath rushing out in a faint cry, thin and chokingly sweet to the vampire's senses, Wesley's finger falling out of his mouth, spit soaked, resting against his face.

 

Too much to wait, too much to pass by. Zar tore his fingers out of the sheath they had probed, and slid his thicker, longer length inside, one smooth, forcible surge, ignoring any and all resistance. Lindsey's whimpering sound of urgent need, swirled with sharp, intimate pain as he took the fullness inside. All the way, perfectly, terribly deep, a blade of flesh, plumbing his depth, striking true.

 

And there was no rest then, no time to adjust, but stroke after stroke of unstopping penetration. Hands on Lindsey's hips where they met his angled thighs, holding him in place. A prisoner to the lust, the possession of the vampire, spiraling the man's own desire, sending him hard, brittle to the edge and holding him there, pained, aroused, wild, begging with body and whispers.

 

He accepted it all, received the hard shaft that demanded he surrender, shivered around it, went soft in Wesley's cupping hand, so focused was he on the feel of it, the thrust and the dilation internally, the demand. He took it, was filled with it, celebrated it, nerves sparking with spidery surges of sensation, crystal pain shattering, turning to hot, meltingly good pleasure riding the razor edge of their need.

 

Balthazar's murmured, hissed words, replaced by pure, slicing pleasure as fangs pierced skin, sharp and immediate, urgent, Lindsey's nipples going hard, pheromones spiking, body rippling, teasing and promising, balls drawn up tight, even as his erection filled, firmed in the space of seconds, Wesley's fingers squeezing him, as Balthazar rode over the sensitive, tender gland inside. And Lindsey could take no more.

 

He screamed into the bed, into the pillows, his hands clawing at the blankets, at Wesley who was next to him. Over and over his prostate was struck, unerringly, building until he had to burst, had to release, had to give in, and he came. Longer, harder, with surges that rivaled all his experiences and defeated them in an instant. His body's sheath caressed and squeezed the vampire, the one who was buried inside, balls deep, swelling to an impossible to take size, to the verge of tearing pain, only just not more than the man could handle. Perfect in it's exquisite torture, in it's abiding, arousing pain, in it's completion, in it's lingering, unending finish.

 

And Lindsey collapsed half on top of Wes, had no final resistance, gave in completely, as Balthazar took what he wanted, and filled him with cool seed. Rumbling his satisfaction as the cries of his thrall filled the room, triggering his own release, acknowledging his dominance. The man was his, every cell of him, his thrall, receiving him, denying nothing, Lindsey taking what Balthazar would give, all if it. His.

 

Balthazar growled, raising up his blood dappled face, fangs streaming crimson trails, gameface, the double fangs fully extended, his glowing eyes...finally the master vampire. Terrible in his primal beauty, his power, yet in the moment more wonderfully true to his glittering, predatory soul than at any other moment in his life. As he fully claimed one who he owned.


	76. Chapter 76

  
Author's notes: Angel has visitors. Riley makes a mistake.   


* * *

Dedication: To Nancy...who thought more on screen sex would be nice....a little treat.

 

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Riley was on his back, arms flung up over his head, wild and abandoned, flushed with lust and shame and unbearable pleasure. Angel sank fangs and prick into him, riding him to screaming, to brain numbing, blood curdling, crazy peaks, stopping him before he could tumble over. Leaving him on the brink, unable to find that last drop, touch, caress he needed to release.

 

Riley knew the entire hotel heard him, heard his cries and heard his begging. They all knew what was happening to him, who was taking him, bending his knees up to his chest, fucking him. They all knew that this was both punishment and claiming. The long, slow, agonizing fuck a reward for his master's pleasure, as much as a penance for Riley's misbehavior. For his unforgivable words of dissent.

 

Riley no longer cared that there were others watching him, watching Angel taking him. He no longer cared they were strangers, some of them. He no longer cared that he had started all of this, that he had once again implied he didn't support what Angel was doing, if the king was doing right...or making a terrible mistake. Riley had not meant it to be a question of Angel's right to rule. But his unwitting, verbal doubt was witnessed, heard by outsiders, a sin Angel could no longer forgive.

 

And so Riley found himself lifted, borne on Angel's strong shoulder, with all present invited to follow and witness just who was master here, who ruled and who followed. This was his punishment.

 

But a more exquisite punishment he couldn't imagine. He was being driven mad now. At first he had fought, he had protested, not believing that Angel would do this in front of others, persons he had never seen before, emissaries from other vampire courts. Not crediting in his persistent naivete that Angel would strip him bare, spread his legs, and mount him with all eyes peeled, voraciously devouring the spectacle he made.

 

Xander was closest, a wary eye on the newcomers, but still making clear he agreed with Riley's punishment, with Angel's actions. Riley felt the werehyena's attention, painfully aware of it, but, Xander was also Angel's. And Riley had watched Xander being taken. Xander's presence was not the hard one to take. Xander had been there many times already.

 

Graham was on the mattress, sitting cross legged, hoping that he would not have to put himself into the mix, but ready to do so if Riley was truly at risk. He would offer blood, his body, sex, anything to keep Riley from true harm. But so far...it wasn't needed. Angel wasn't hurting Riley, he was humiliating him, in a way, but Riley was also crazy with arousal and sexual heat. Not suffering much.

 

Heri was curled up with the mercenary he never wanted far from him, leaning back into Kon's arms, held secure, happy. His sharp, intent eyes watched, he licked his fangs, his gaze traveling over every inch of Riley's sweating skin, over Angel's power rippling body, absorbing the smell of sex, the sounds, the erotic insanity of the two men coupling wildly on the bed in a most public display.

 

Heri wanted it. He wanted to be in Riley's position, underneath Angelus. Though, the thought of his desire for it made him want to laugh. Him, wanting to be fucked by the always haughty, holier than thou Angelus. He wanted to laugh at the concept...but his throat was bone dry, and he couldn't even pull his eyes away from Angelus and his mewling human thrall long enough to sip from either Kon or his delectable merc.

 

The emissaries stood at the foot of the bed, witness to the claiming, for reasons that had almost eluded the now sex-drunk Riley, catching him completely by surprise when Angel grabbed him, flung him down, stripped him and entered him. And now...here they were. The visitors, all vampires, staring at Angel taking his thrall.

 

Riley had not meant to say what he had...or at least he had not meant it to be taken in a negative way. Especially not by Angel. Angel had been speaking, the visiting vampires listening. One had apparently seen Riley's _expression. A female vampire who wore the faintest smirk when she looked at the new world king. Derisive. Disrespectful, but not so overt as Angel felt he had to call her on it.

 

She had laughed, tossing her lush blond hair when she'd seen Riley's frown and noted his attention focused on her. She said, her tone just on the safe edge of mocking, "You are too easy on the humans, Angelus. Not even your thralls agree with you, king." Her large blue eyes had met Riley's, and he thought how ghod damned lovely she was. He had stood there, open mouthed, only half hearing her next query.

 

"You don't agree with your lord, do you, little one?" She'd asked, her subtle sneer not cluing Riley in before his mouth ran away with him.

 

"No," he'd breathed out the word. Then as she seemed to be waiting for more...encouraging him with her burning gaze, her sexual promise filling the air between them, he continued digging the hole he was in ever deeper, losing his precarious balance in the next rush of four, ill advised words.

 

"No, I don't agree." He'd added. He really hadn't meant to say it, not meant to deny his master, to question his right to rule. Because if any vampire had to rule LA, then the only one Riley wanted close to having that kind of position and power was Angel. He didn't want Spike, nor Dru, nor...anyone else to be the king. Not Balthazar, not Alistair...no other vampire he had ever met, would be one he'd see in Angel's place now.

 

But his words...they didn't convey that thought. They only voiced his disagreement, his defiance. He wished fervently he could bite them back, so they had never been spoken, never heard. He felt stupid. Jesus! Couldn't he even manage to police his own tongue?

 

The only vampire he came close to feeling any comfort with besides Angel was Alistair. But Alistair still made him nervous with his cool reserve, so hard to get to know. Stranger still, and harder to figure since Riley had seen how the blond male vampire knelt to Angel so willingly, and how Angel touched him, buried his hands in all that incredible hair, sniffed it. Riley burned with jealously that he fought not to admit. No, he might not feel as threatened by Alistair as the others in Angel's court, but he was wisely, frightened of the ancient.

 

The silence finally got through to him. And Graham's insistent hand on his arm, squeezing hard, urgent, that he had ignored entirely. And, oh shit, he'd realized what he had done. The whole of it coming crashing down on him. They were not alone. They were in front of others. He'd done it again. Been incredibly stupid, no matter what his personal beliefs were. Angel had warned all of them, his thralls. How they had to think before they spoke in public, of the consequences of their words. Riley had acknowledged the wisdom of Angel's counsel. But it hadn't stopped him.

 

Riley had not thought at all, just blurted it out, while blinded with lust for a female vamp.... And once he realized it...Riley dithered about what he should do. He didn't drop to his knees and bow his head, which might have appeased his king and master. He stood looking tall and defiant, while inside he was uncertain, and the vampires facing Angelus had shown their contempt of a master who couldn't even control a thrall.

 

Angel had lowered his eyes for a moment, an oddly submissive gesture, Riley thought, until the vampire king had raised them again and the thrall saw the rage in those dark, velvet depths, the golden glints that rose up out of the brown irises, like flame rising to the sky. Riley knew he had said exactly the wrong thing, and at the worst possible time.

 

Graham had gone down to his knees, dropping at once, fast, but not hard, his innate grace forbidding an awkward move. And Doyle had done it, spilling fast to the floor, and Heri shaking, understanding after his knowing of the vampire in his younger days how bad this might be, in fact, everyone in the room had knelt. Except the visitors, and the stubbornly defiant, upright Riley. Who had stayed, staring with trepidation, into Angel's eyes. Anything but the obedient thrall.

 

Christ! Why hadn't he thought before he said anything? The trembling in his gut grew, but didn't show outwardly. Riley Finn had fought scared before, when his life and the lives of others depended on his not showing fear, or any emotion at all, and he knew how to bottle it all in. He knew his sin was in more than one arena. What right did he have to ever look at a woman? He was not free, regardless of how he felt about that, it was his reality, and look at the trouble it had caused. Riley thought about how stupid he'd just been. And....Angel moved.

 

Angel stood, the air shimmering around him, going unclear and milky, like a halo, a frame, and following the halo came....crackling and sparkling into a golden fire that made it impossible for Riley and everyone else in the room not to unlock their jaws and gape, the vampires raising arms to shield their faces from the blinding light. At that even the visitors dropped like synchronized rocks, to their knees, thump, thump, thump, thump. Riley saw the awe in the immortal faces, the shock. He knew he should do the same, fall down before the master, his master, but he couldn't. His silly, idiotic pride would not let him, his knees were locked, even as Angel took a fateful, forbidding step towards him.

 

But it wasn't Angel who knocked him to the ground. It was a furious, snarling Xander. Eye catchingly fierce and horrific in his hyena/human mix guise. His arm raised as Riley went down to hands and knees, feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. Oh fuck. Angel was bad, but Xander...he was worse. He was less controlled, Riley rolled onto his back so he could see the were hyena. Be prepared for whatever Xander intended. Xander's arm lifted, claws extended, poised.

 

Graham was beside him, shielding him from Xander. Not stopping the were-human, but slowing him, grabbing the potentially fatal arm, making Xander pause, giving Angel time to arrive and lift Riley like a weightless doll, tossing him over a shoulder. Xander hunching over Graham, growling, making it abundantly clear he didn't like the other man interfering with what Xander saw as his job, to enforce discipline. Graham keeping an eye on the werehyena, but not raising h

 

is hands to defend himself, not fending Xander off, not escalating the situation further. But it was crystal clear to Riley that *he* had put Graham in danger, his actions, his words, he had put his friend in harm's way, in *Xander's* way.

 

Riley was tossed down, landing on his back, hard, the mattress bouncing him back a full foot in the air, knowing enough to not try to flee, though every instinct he had told him he should run, and protect himself. It knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped for breath. Angel loomed over him, not waiting for him to recover, vampire strong hands flashing down, clawed fingers tearing the clothing off his lanky body.

 

Riley knew without looking there were more than a dozen eyes watching him, seeing him being stripped bare. Seeing him naked. Seeing him punished. Shamed. Taken. Hearing him cry out. Beg for more of Angel. Angel who always made him beg and burn. Who made him question what he knew about himself.

 

The stubbornly heterosexual Riley. The man who writhed under another man. Who screamed and whimpered, pleaded to be fucked. Harder. Faster. Longer. Who sobbed, sweated and loved every fierce thrust into his body, who needed it as badly as he needed to live and to breathe. Who had never felt this way when having sex with any woman he'd been with, no matter how much he'd loved them....and he had loved.

 

But it was Angel, a man who had taught Riley just what lust and sex and orgasm was all about. It was a man not a woman who taught him how high he could go. Who took every last ounce of his will, his determination, his self concept and tore it all to shreds. Angel who made him lose his mind every time. Angel who drove into him, hard, harsh punishingly exquisite strokes that built the fire in his pelvis, his hips, behind his balls, deep, deep inside.

 

Riley couldn't understand how it had happened to him. How had he been brought to the point of his life where a male could do this to him. Where he was unable to deny that anyone else had ever come close to what Angel made him feel. It was pure insanity. Lust without boundaries.

 

And this time was no exception. Riley whimpered, moaned and screamed in front of them all, spread out like a feast under the vampire master fucking him. Naked. Displayed. Taken. Owned. Angel tumbled him over the edge at last. And Riley was reduced to nothing but sensation, to splintering, insane orgasm, release that stole his consciousness, and sent him gasping, swirling into darkness.


	77. Chapter 77

  
Author's notes: The question of Riley. The curiosity of Heri.   


* * *

Dedication: To Krys...who wasn't feeling well last time. Hope you are better.

 

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Riley lay on his back, naked. He looked up at the ceiling. He hadn't moved since Angel had shooed the others out of the room ahead of him. Graham hadn't wanted to go, looking back at Riley on the bed, immobile, staring up at the ceiling, but Angel had not given him the choice, wrapping long fingers around the nape of the shorter man's neck and leading him out.

 

Angel wanted Riley alone, without Graham there, or Xander, or Doyle for a moment, to think about what had happened. But that hadn't been before Angel had fastened the smooth, fragrant, brown leather collar around Riley's neck. Not a word of explanation. Just the slide of the supple collar under the back of his neck, lifting him a fraction, his head falling back, making him shiver with it's temporary coolness.

 

The buckles were solid and strong, almost ornate, old, not modern and cheap, snugging it against Riley's skin. His fingers stole up without asking permission from his pride. The leather was warm now, absorbing the heat from his body. Soft. Not new. Well worn. Riley wondered who had worn it before today. The scent of it, the feel of it, the awareness of it, of wearing Angel's collar sent wave after wave of sensation prickling over him. His skin was covered in goose-flesh. He let out a little moan, fingertips trembling over the surface of the leather.

 

He should be mad. Furious that he was being given a collar to wear like an animal, like a dog. He should fight, resist, make it hard, not easy for Angel to put it on him. And when he could, at the first opportunity, like right now, he should be tearing at it, taking it off, cutting it off if he had to.

 

Instead he was laying here, alone, no one to stop him, and not trying to take it off. Shaking and shuddering, his breath coming in short arrhythmic pants, his body tight, aroused, petting the thing that circled his neck. That told every one who cared to look, that he, Riley Finn, was owned. Possessed. Not his own man. Angel's. Laying flat on his back stroking the band Angel had put around his throat.

 

He swallowed, lids fluttering shut. How was he supposed to deal with this? How the collar made him feel? If he was honest about it. He felt as if his erection would never go down. As if he needed Angel here, back inside of him, fucking him, taking him despite his aches and pains. He closed his eyes. Oh, Ghod what was he going to do?

 

The sound of the door opening prompted his eyes to fly open. They locked onto the figure approaching the bed. Riley couldn't move, tears started up in his eyes and flowed down his face in twin rivers. He choked out a sob. His hands lifted, reaching, begging without words, fingers extended, spread, anxious, needing.

 

Angel climbed up onto the bed, his eyes burning gold, fierce, intent. He slid his bronze, shimmering, silk shirt down off his shoulders, flinging it aside, where it floated to the floor. His pants followed, and naked, erect he knelt over Riley, his naughty, recalcitrant thrall, Riley's eyes full of leaking tears, his face desperate.

 

Angel looked down from the twisted face, to the soft, pale brown of the collar. The collar he had worn himself, when the European king had tried to own Angelus. And failed. But the king had made him wear it for twenty long, unhappy years. Angel had never accepted it, never bowed to that master willingly. But his blood and sweat, two decades of it, impregnated the leather. His long, graceful fingers stroked the leather, the soft skin of Riley's throat. Felt the thrum of blood, the quiet sobs.

 

Riley felt the touch as if it was on his most sensitive skin. He moaned, arching his neck into it. The callouses rasping over his nerves.

 

"Angel?" He breathed, begged, asked. Slowly, Angel's fingers moved, falling away from the collar, running feather light down Riley's body, scraping gently over nipples, then lower, stopping at his groin. Angel filled his hand with his thrall's straining erection, the pounding heat of it, the pulsing desire, the surging need. He smiled down at the writhing man, his hand squeezing gently, tenderly.

 

He had found the secret to Riley Finn.

 

He bent down, moving in with slow precision, feeling the gasping, warm eddies of Riley's panting breath fanning out over his face. Then he brought their lips together, soft, dry, becoming wet, slippery, salty with the tears and sweet with saliva, Riley tipping up his chin, opening, submitting, letting Angel's tongue invade his mouth, suckling on the hot muscle exploring inside.

 

The long, muscular thighs fell open. Angel moved between them. Yes, this was the way to control this particular thrall. Not by blood. Not by punishment. Not by orders. Not by reasoning.

 

By sex.

 

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Gunn waited. Alistair was talking to the visitors. They shied away from Gunn every time he came near, their eyes rolling at him like nervous horses, uneasy being within arms length of him. So Gunn was over here, watching from far enough away that they could concentrate on what Alistair wanted them to hear.

 

Gunn had met the blonde vampire before. She had caused trouble with Angel more than once. Darla. Angelus' sire. Not his equal, nor his superior any more. And resentful of it, sniping and agitating. Angel should have hit her. But he hadn't. Alistair had. When Angel left to go back to Riley. Not behind Angel's back. Angel had still been in the room when Alistair struck the woman. But the king had not turned or said anything. Gunn took that to mean he approved. If she had been human Gunn himself might have protested. But Darla was not human, she was pretty close to a monster. More of one than just about all the demons Gunn had met. Even the ones he'd fought and had to kill.

 

It wasn't a blow, not really. Alistair had reached out, like a striking snake, and grabbed Darla around the throat, slamming her up, off her feet and into the wall. Holding her there, effortlessly as he spoke to her, his face still sweetly calm, serene. So beautiful that Gunn ached with just seeing him.

 

Gunn startled when it had happened, taking a step forward, making damn sure every one of the visitors knew they would not be allowed to interfere with what Alistair was doing. But Gunn's threat proved unnecessary. Darla might feel she could snipe at Angel but she didn't dare do so with Alistair. She hung limp in his hold.

 

They had all gotten the message. None of them was making any move to save their mistress. They stared at Alistair with big eyes. Disbelieving eyes. As if seeing a ghost. Gunn felt certain of it. They all knew Alistair from some other time and place. And were shocked to see him again.

 

"He retired from the court life." It was Heri who was at Gunn's side. He looked way down at the short vampire. He hadn't asked the question aloud. But Heri was answering it anyway. Perhaps reading the puzzlement on his face.

 

"Why?" Was all Gunn could think of to ask.

 

"Why did he leave the court?" Heri said, shifting a bit, his voice low. Almost a purr. Gunn watched him, but Heri didn't look up at him. "He was tired of it. The games. The falsity. He wanted to be alone. He is old. Very, very old. Ancient. The ancients tire of the society of the young and frivolous. The ancients, if they survive, often retreat from all others to a life of contemplation."

 

Gunn looked over at Alistair. His master, his friend, his soulmate. He felt their connection singing across the intervening space. He felt him, his body, his occasional breath, his thoughts. He knew him. Like he had not known anyone else in his life. Not even his parents or his sister.

 

Alistair was...inside of him. They shared a spirit, a soul. A life. But Gunn didn't know all that much about his past. Only the snatches that Tristan's memories revealed. He wanted to know more. But time and the action around the new court had not allowed him to ask Alistair very many questions.

 

"So why did he come back?" Gunn wondered aloud. Heri smirked, this time looking up, finding Gunn's attention focused on Alistair, not on him. The smirk wasn't wasted though, because Heri could feel Gunn was aware of it, of him. Of his curiosity.

 

"He came back because Angel called him when he became the head of a blood circle. The circle called out to all of us. We all felt it. But some of the vampires who heard it were compelled to Angel's side. Alistair and Balthazar, and others." Heri said, folding his fingers in on themselves to keep from reaching out and touching the dark thrall's bare arm.

 

"Others?" Gunn frowned. "Who? Only Balthazar and Alistair came."

 

Heri sidled closer, until he could feel the heat of the other's living skin. He wanted to touch the strange thrall, very badly in fact. Wanted to see what it would be like to feel the ghost under Gunn's skin.

 

Tristan, alive again, in a strange and terrifying way. Tristan. The Hunter. He who killed those of his own kind as he saw fit, as he saw the need. Not at the command of a king or a queen. He who had taken the ancient Alistair to his side. Partnered him. Made the pious Monk into a Hunter like himself.

 

"There are others who still fight not to come, or who are prevented from coming. They will someday make their way here, as Angelus has need of them." Heri said in reply, sniffing delicately at Gunn's arm, trying to scent Tristan.

 

Gunn was still focused on his master, watching him converse with the visitors. Watching how they bowed to him. Not kneeling like they did to Angel. But respectful none the less. More than fear. Rage on the part of Darla, certainly, and jealousy. Her blue eyes were filled with it. Resentment. Fear. Loathing.

 

Gunn's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to the crowd around Alistair, Tristan floating up through him, his body, to wisp around him like icy, spun clouds.

 

Heri gasped as the threads touched him, he froze in place. Tristan's spirit tangling over his body like thousands of seeking snakes, taking his measure, assessing him for potential and for threat. Gunn looked down at the sharp outcry. And it was Tristan's gaze that met Heri's.

 

Heri felt terror raise up in his breast. Choking him, even without the need for air or oxygen. The attention of the beast that lived in Gunn, the master vampire, the voracious appetite, Tristan, chilled the former prankster of the European court. His whimper caught in his throat, lodging firmly, preventing the sound escaping.

 

Heri felt every ounce of his curiosity vanish like smoke. He wanted nothing to do with Gunn, or Tristan, or figuring their puzzle out.

 

The desire to touch and find out how Tristan and Gunn combined, felt...that was instantly gone. He was instead, hopeful of regaining the use of his arms and legs so he might run.

 

Heri, the crafty, scheming, laughing and courageous vampire was not feeling any of those things. He was not feeling clever or safe. He was feeling afraid. He wanted to run. Gunn's eyes held him in place. Tristan's unnatural gaze, like a viper's, hypnotic, pinning him, despite his overwhelming wish to be anywhere but here.

 

Tristan reached out with Gunn's hand and touched the terrified face, cupping the delicate chin. Heri trembled, eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of their sockets. Heri thought he was about to die. He knew distantly that he was a vampire, and technically that made him dead already...but he felt death crawl over his skin as the tendrils that were Tristan, the Hunter, skimmed over him. Sucking at his soul.

 

"No." It was Alistair, tall and strong and his savior. Heri turned into the strange warmth that was Alistair. Clinging. One step away from gibbering. Alistair's hand hovered over the small vampire before settling on his back. Heri clung to him, feeling a fool, but unable to gather his thought and his courage quickly. The sweet voice of the monk filled his ears. "You should not touch him. Tristan does not like vampires."

 

The spring green of the blond vampire's eyes met Heri's darker ones. "I...I..." Heri swallowed the huge lump in his throat. "I was wondering..." He managed to rasp out. "Wasn't going to hurt..."

 

Alistair lifted the hand from Heri's back and the little vampire shuddered, fear rising up in him like a tidal wave. Sighing Alistair put his hand back in place. "Do not be curious about Tristan, or Gunn. He is too much to play with. He may suck you dry before you can be saved."

 

Heri gaped. Nodding, his fingers digging into the back of Alistair's waist. His eyes peered around the big vampire to find Gunn watching them. The ghostly presence of Tristan was gone. But Heri would never forget it. How it felt to be touched by that otherworldly energy. By death itself.

 

"Go find Angelus. You have been drained somewhat. He will need to give you blood." Alistair lifted his hand again. And this time Heri obeyed the instruction, staggering towards Angelus' room.

 

The visitors were grouped near the door. All staring. with matching looks of horror. They had witnessed it, the unwelcome return of Tristan.

 

Many vampires held Alistair in awe, admiring him, he was one of the icons of their race's history. If allowed they would come and sit at his feet to listen. Tristan was another kettle of fish entirely. Very few wanted to be near Tristan in the same way. None would seek him out, ask to listen to the wisdom he had learned as they might do with Alistair. Simply put, Tristan scared the shit out of even the oldest and most powerful of them.

 

They wanted nothing to do with Alistair's thrall and the ghost that lived in him.

 

Heri moved lightning fast through the huddled, wary group, fleeing without pride. Wanting only to get to his master....and far, far away from Gunn.


	78. Chapter 78

  
Author's notes: Doyle. Riley. Xander. Spike.  


* * *

Xander was clearly worried. Doyle was moping far worse than usual, and Angel was still with Riley, not noticing Doyle at all. Or rather, with Riley *again*.Xander had no trouble hearing what was going on behind the closed door. But it was time for that to stop. There was something more Angel needed to see to. Angel needed to address the half demon's troubles now, in Xander's opinion. He hunkered down next to the smaller man, who was once again curled up in an eavesdropping ball of misery outside of Angel's rooms.

 

Xander carefully and gently examined the uncooperative, protesting demon, moving Doyle this way and that with a firm touch. He didn't see blood, or any injury, but he was intent on making sure he missed nothing. In order to do that, Xander stripped away the many layers of clothing that Doyle was bundled into. Two shirts, a T shirt, and one under that. Baggy. He frowned, growling under his breath. The body revealed was much too thin, Doyle was pale and shaking, chilled, he needed Angel.

 

Xander respected Angel's position as king and as his master. But he also took very seriously his own self appointed position as first thrall. A position Angel had confirmed as rightfully Xander's. It was his role to make sure the others were cared for as well as assuring they adhered to the set codes of behavior. And Xander was going to do just that. Angel included.

 

Angel had chosen to spend private time with Riley. Xander silently and approvingly agreed it was what Riley needed to get him on the right track. That was only because Angel didn't let Xander apply his own kind of thrall to thrall re-education. Xander was of the opinion his method would have been equally effective as fucking the misbehaving thrall into the mattress.

 

The werehyena shrugged. Fucking rather than a beating. That was their master's choice. And for now he would abide by it. Hoping this latest intervention would cure Riley of his tendency to rebel in ways no master and no ruler could tolerate. But, every situation was fluid. If he found Riley recalcitrant...he allowed himself a grimace of anticipation, he would step in. And he wouldn't ask Angel's permission, either.

 

But. Doyle was a different kettle of fish. No longer out spoken, he'd grown uncomfortably silent in the last few weeks. The demon tended to internalize, minimize, not letting anyone know how much trouble he was in. Xander had been distracted every bit as much as Angel. Xander was to blame, for not seeing it before now. Doyle wasn't a thrall. It was too easy for him to be left out. Xander should never have let the half demon sleep away from Angel and himself. A small problem became a big one. One put off far too long. Xander muttered under his breath. Now, left for too long to his own devices, Doyle was in serious trouble.

 

Angel had one more acute crisis to deal with. Unlike the one with Riley, which Xander believed he could have dealt with just as well as Angel...Doyle's problem needed the vampire. Xander knew Doyle was not going to get better on anything less than regular offerings of Angel's fresh blood, and secondly on carefully supervised feedings of real food. Xander could supervise the food, but not give him the blood. Blood first. It was the more important ingredient.

 

Xander picked Doyle up, lifting the scrawny form like he was weightless, which was terrifyingly closer to the truth than it should be. Doyle was not feeding himself, he was not caring for his most basic needs. He was wasting away. Bent on self-destruction. That was not going to be allowed to continue. Xander would not permit it. Fuck Cordy and the demon she rode in on, Doyle was not going to mope himself into a grave over her. It was so not worth it. She wasn't.

 

Holding the shivering, ghostly pale Irishman in his arms, Xander kicked the closed door to Angel's room. Nothing. He kicked it again and was rewarded with a threatening snarl from inside, warning him off.

 

Two could play that game. Xander growled right back, raising the volume of his own reply. The door was jerked open so hard it almost flew from it's hinges. Angel was in full gameface, gold eyes glittering menacingly, fangs dropping down over his lips. Naked as a jaybird. Xander shoved past him into the room, sending the other man stumbling to one side.

 

Angrily, Angel's hand shot out and grabbed the back of the werehyena's neck squeezing down hard, stopping him in his tracks. The pressure was fierce. Xander responded by kicking the vampire in the shin just as hard, keeping his hold on the man he was carrying. The vampire yelped. Only just maintaining his hold. Resisting the instinct to grab at his painful extremity.

 

Angel hissed his censure, tightening his grip more harshly, sending up sparks into Xander's head. OK, that was going to stop, right now. Xander stepped back from the vampire, tilted, raised his leg and kicked Angel in the side of the head, propelling him reeling back a few feet. He did not hold back much of his lycanthrope-augmented power, intent on getting his master's complete and undivided attention. Xander scowled at the lust addled, temporarily dazed vampire, turning and pushing up against the vampire, so Doyle was between the two of them.

 

"Doyle..." Xander began, talking to his master, his tone censorious.

 

"I am busy." Angel roared at him, if roaring could be as quiet as death. Promising years of retribution and torture, a silken, bass, threat. Angel shoved Xander, his eyes flicking to the bed occupied by the gently moaning, tall, Iowan thrall. Xander smelled the distracting scent of beckoning, alluring sex. Damn, but the ex-Marine smelled good... Looked good...

 

"You take care of him." Angel told him. Xander shook his head refusing to be pushed aside, or out of the room until Angel listened and understood about Doyle and how far everything had gone.

 

"I can't." Xander responded a warning in his tone. He would drop Doyle and kick the shit out of his master if he had to. Didn't matter if he knew he would lose...if it had to be done... He tried words. "Look at him. Your Consort."

 

"He will be fine!" Angel hissed, his face fierce, his nostrils flaring, obviously far gone into the heat of taking that great lump Riley, Xander thought uncharitably. That tanned, hot bodied, primed male. Collared male. Xander's eyes widened for an instant, before he shook his head to clear it. His cock went from soft to hard in less than a second. He grit his teeth savagely, concentrating.

 

"No he won't. He needs you. And if you don't pay attention to him soon, it will be too late to do it at all." Xander spat back at his horny, sex-fogged master.

 

Angel, surprised, did just that, that quickly he saw what Xander meant for him to see. His brow knitted, fading to human visage, gameface wasn't conducive to many expressions, like worry. Angel looked worried, Xander thought, pleased.

 

The tension in Xander's back eased a fraction. He let out a great breath. Fucking at last, he groused silently. He ignored his raging erection. Or tried to.

 

"But he looked better than this a week ago." Angel murmured, reaching out to run a hand down the too thin side. Ribs jutted, and the cheekbones in the sad face were like blades. Angel growled, pressing closer, taking Doyle in his arms, taking the half demon away from Xander and carrying him to the bed. Xander followed, adjusting himself in his jeans.

 

Xander put himself between Riley and Angel to keep the vampire focused. Riley moaned when the bed moved. Xander laid a hand on his fellow thrall, patting him to quiet him, feeling the sweat dewed skin. Distracting. Riley squirmed, moaning again. Xander put a hand over his mouth and bent down, looking onto the too blue eyes.

 

"Shhhh." He soothed, desperately. Instead of obeying, Riley writhed, managing to hook a leg over Xander's hip. Xander froze. He was torn between the respect for Riley as Angel's property and a sudden, unimaginably powerful surge of lust. Riley was there, open, fragrant with pheromones, moving against his leg, his hip, hot and luscious, trembling with need. His own erection, long and straight, pulsing in the air with the degree of his need.

 

Angel was occupied with Doyle, holding the small man cradled in his arms, wrist thrust into the feeding mouth. The vampire watched closely, measuring every swallow of blood Doyle took like an anxious first time mother watching her new infant take milk. Whenever Doyle seemed to slow, Angel bent down, whispering encouragement, stroking the dark haired head, until the pace of swallows picked up.

 

Xander looked down at Riley as the man's fist closed on his shirt. Riley jerked him down, lodging Xander's hips firmly between the spread thighs. Xander gulped, eyes flying up to see...yes, Angel had noticed the byplay. His gaze was hooded, predatory.

 

Xander felt a frisson of unease move over his skin, fear. He was trespassing on his master's personal territory. He wanted to extricate himself from Riley's hold, almost as badly as he wanted to complete the dance Riley was doing against his straining lower parts.

 

Xander was rock hard. He had had sex, many times since coming to the Hyperion and becoming Angel's thrall. He liked the sex, the claiming he and Angel engaged in, once he got past his fear, a fear that was reborn with the beginning of nearly every session, but gone by the end of it.

 

Angel was an extraordinary lover with centuries of experience. Sexually with Xander he showed a patience he did not with Graham or with Riley. But. He never let Xander top him. Xander hadn't fucked any one since coming here. Now...Riley was all but offering him the chance.

 

Riley had a big, strong body, not quite as muscular as Xander, but it was nice, hard, and moving in ways that gave Xander plenty of ideas. Xander had never fucked another man. Plenty of times with women, but not once with a man. Riley was here, asking for it, begging for it with tiny, gasping whimpers, smelling of heat and sex and Angel, and his own lust.

 

Xander dropped his hand down between Riley's legs, he growled when his fingers slipped, encountering slick, well oiled skin. One long finger tapped the loosely, puckered entrance to Riley's body, without resistance, slipping deep. A second finger made Riley arch up. Xander couldn't help letting out a grrring moan of his own, right into Riley's flushed face. Riley's whole body jerked, his eyes flying open, focusing at last on who was between his legs. His gaze locking onto Xander. He went absolutely still for a split second as his face turned bright red. His thighs tensed, trying to close. Xander, frustrated, didn't move and let him succeed.

 

Panic and embarrassment colored Riley's expression, he tried to sit up, hands going down to try and stop Xander's invading fingers. Riley shoved hard against Xander, the werehyena refusing to move. Angel spoke, a deep, forbidding rumble.

 

"Let him have you." He said to Riley. Riley's blue eyes whipped upward to meet the gold-dark ones of the vampire, his master. Angel held his gaze, then his eyes dropped to the collar around Riley's throat, as if reminding the thrall that it was there. Riley abruptly went still, laying back, his legs relaxing, his body unresisting.

 

Xander watched as a strange kind of peace filled the other man's face. Riley melted. That was the best way Xander could describe it. Riley met his eyes, opened his mouth, licked his lips. Xander thought his head would explode from the instantaneous rise in his blood pressure. He leaped forward the few inches separating them. Riley arched into him, legs stealing up, around his back and hips, heels pressing into his lower back.

 

Xander's pulse filled his ears to pounding at the pretty act of submission. There was nothing that could have roused him more. The pack alpha in him roared in satisfaction, surging in to take what he was being offered. Over-riding his every cautioning doubt.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

His fingers came out with a jerk, Riley let out just one surprised grunt at the abruptness of the withdrawal, his eyes fixing on Xander's, startled, freezing Xander in place for the period of time their gazes held. Then he closed his eyes again, and Xander let out his breath, his body shaking with his frenetic need.

 

He very tip of his penis nudged in close, unbearably hard, kissing the opening of the man who was inviting him in. Riley's tongue peeked out of his mouth, wetting his lips, his chest hitching with the shock of the small touch. The first time they'd touched this way, and perhaps the last.

The touch burned up through Xander's gut, Riley lay, waiting, willing, welcoming. The scent of arousal in the air was like an intoxicant.

 

Hot silk around the head of his erection. Xander couldn't be patient. He slid inside. One long, incredible stroke. Tight but Riley melted around him, taking it, not fighting it at all. It was Xander's turn to whimper. He rolled up and fully on top of the man under him. Grinding their fronts together. Feeling Riley hard against his belly.

 

Damn, he couldn't believe how good it felt. Unlike anything he'd done before. Tight, wet, hot, just the absolute perfect amount of friction. Riley threw his hands up over his head and moaned into Xander's ear. Xander panted.

 

Xander's skin goose-pimpled in a wave. He hunched into Riley deeper, dragged his length out, then shoved back in again. The strokes, still perfect, the sensations shooting right up his spine, his pelvis going liquid and molten all at once. His flanks trembling. Riley's heels digging in, pelvis curving up, to take more of Xander.

 

Xander grasped the long legs, and pushed them higher, gaining another precious inch deeper. In and out. Christ. He'd missed this, he'd missed being the one fucking. Riley's head was thrown back. His throat covered with the leather of the collar. Beautiful in his passion.

 

Xander felt the picture of it shiver through him. He lowered his head, sniffing at the leather. Angel. Riley. Sweat. Semen. Sex. It was all impreganting the plain collar. It tore through every cell of Xander's body as he snuffled at it.

 

Submission. The collar reeked of it, of Riley's receptive desire to please, of his growing arousal, triggered by his service. By his surrender of his body and his sex to Xander, but mostly to his master, to Angel's will. Xander growled, worrying at the leather, licking at it. Riley let out a mewling whimper.

 

Sighing moans. Lovely. The feel of his hips meeting Riley's, bare, intimate flesh that he was fucking, taking, having. Piercing right into Riley's core. The untouched place for most men. His balls drawing up tight, ready.

 

Riley choking, begging. Xander speeding up his thrusts. Harder, pounding into the big body, knowing Riley would take it, whatever Xander wanted to give him. Riley would take it.

 

Then it was there, the sparkling rush of orgasm, washing him hot and cold, head to foot. He screamed, his back flexing. He poured himself into the body of his fellow thrall. Jet after jet of spine-tingling release. His fingers ripping into the bed, his feet shoving hard, harder, driving himself all of it, into Riley. Riley's arms joining his legs holding Xander tight, wrapped in the cocoon of his body.

 

The spasms of Riley joining his release, washing satin-y heat over Xander's belly.

 

Oh Ghod. That was what it felt like from this side.

 

Oh Ghod. Xander groaned, mindless. He felt his ears sharpen into rounded points, losing all control.

 

Riley's body, his intimate flesh, squeezing Xander's cock, over and over, his sensitzed ejaculating flesh. Making him writhe, whimper, cry out.

 

@@@@@@@@

 

Xander carried Doyle down to the kitchen, surprising Spike and his thralls in the midst of eating.

 

"Come in for a bit of brekkie?" Spike asked, good naturedly. Then he caught a whiff of Xander. His face morphed. His jolly mood evaporating. He sniffed loudly. Oz was mesmerized, his nose twitching, madly.

 

Sniff. Sex. Riley. Sex. Riley. Xander.

 

Xander sat and poured a glass of orange juice and milk, mixing the two. Doyle was wrapped neck to foot in one of Angel's big robes. His toes barely peeked out from the bottom. Xander arranged the smaller man on his lap, and proceeded to hold the glass while Doyle sipped from it. Cajoling him to drink it all. Spike frowned. The Irish git was hardly more than a skeleton. Not good. He frowned harder, his meal all but forgotten.

 

Spike watched uneasily. He was puzzling over the scents all over Xander. Something was odd. Sex. Riley. Xander. He'd smelled them all before. In combination. Angel liked all his thralls in bed with him. Spike had happily picked up that habit from his Sire.

 

He sniffed again, reaching for the niggling thought in the back of his mind, coaxing it forward.

 

It hit him. Sex. Riley. Xander. Together. Xander had fucked Riley. Xander was a thrall. And he had fucked another thrall. Spike was on his feet in a flash, dragging Sam, Nic and Oz away from Xander, chairs and all. To the far end of the large table.

 

"Hey!" Sam looked up at him in shock, Count Chocula and milk covering the front of his black T shirt, pooling soddenly in his lap. "What the fuck...." He whined. Oz put a hand on his arm and Sam quieted, pulling away from the small werewolf, muttering unhappily.

 

Oz resumed eating. Nic after a moment did, also. Sam took longer, but at last, he reached for the box of chocolate flavored cereal with the cartoon vampire on the front, and added to his oversized bowl. Spike handed Nic the milk, who poured some into Sam's brimming bowl while the other watched him petulantly, then scooted it back towards Spike. Who pushed it back to Xander's end of the table.

 

Spike had positoned himself between Xander and his thralls, reaching for his bowl of cereal, rice crispies floating in a mix of blood and milk. His eyes were fixed on Xander. Watching him feed Doyle. Every time Xander glanced at Spike, or even vaguely in the direction of Spike's thralls, Spike raised his head and showed Xander his bared, pink- milk dripping fangs.


	79. Chapter 79

  
Author's notes: shock and dismay. Council of war.  


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Dedication: Renee!!!! ~wiggles toes~

 

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"Why didn't you do something?!" Wesley yelled at Gunn. He was nearly, once more, physically ill from seeing the state Doyle had been reduced to. He found himself actually shaking. His hands tremoring, his stomach roiling with distress. He thought he might end up vomiting. Doyle....

 

They were squared off against one another in the large conference room. They had plenty of company around to witness the fight. Groo eating a peanut butter sandwich Xander had made for him, Alistair waiting for Angel and the proposed "Council of War", deciding what to do about the lady who was the cause of all the recent troubles, Dr Walsh. Gunn there for the same reason as Alistair, Wesley, too, both impatient and irritable. Xander carrying Doyle and feeding him another of the fattening, gooey, PB&J sandwiches, chased by a glass of frosty milk. Xander not letting Doyle eat alone, but wrapping his big, tanned hand around the smaller, paler, very thin fingers holding the glass. A few of the mercs and the Initiative captives, as well as two very attentive twins, watching the spat.

 

"Me? Why didn't ~you~ do something?" Gunn shouted back, just as loudly. He was wondering, how he had missed it. How he missed seeing how desperate things had gotten? He really, honestly hadn't seen it. How could that have happened? He was used to noticing things, he was used to relying on his powers of observation. This time, when it mattered to someone he cared about...he had failed.

 

The few times in the past when he'd not been up to it, Wesley or Angel had been there to pick up the slack. Not this time. It frightened him. Three of them, and they had all missed Doyle's steady decline. It took a newcomer, Gunn didn't think of Xander as part of the inner circle, and perhaps never would. The circle was Cordy, Fred, Gunn, Wesley, Angel and Doyle, maybe Lorne. And no matter how long anyone else was around...they would not be part of it. But, Xander had been the one to finally call attention to the half demon's sorry state. Without Xander...Gunn shuddered, he wanted to cry...or break something.

 

"ME? How could I? I was injured in case you have overlooked that small fact. In case it has escaped that steel trap you call your brain! I couldn't do anything." Wesley responded, hotly, feeling very defensive. He'd been laid up, in bed, with Lindsey and Balthazar literally petting him back to health...while Doyle was dying inch by inch..... "Bollocks, Gunn! You should have been watching out for him. He should have been able to count on you, Charles. I wasn't able to help..."

 

"Well, neither could I." Gunn yelled back, interrupting Wesley's tirade. "I didn't..." He stumbled to a halt. He was literally devastated when he saw Doyle in Xander's arms earlier this evening, Xander hand feeding the frail form. At first Gunn assumed it was a woman, or a child. And he had wondered where they came from. Then, the light had fallen on the curly dark hair, the pale cheek. Long, black lashes resting, eyes closed, on the curve of his cheek, delicate lines, beautiful, so damn fragile. Harshly sculpted bones, ethereal, hungry face of an old church icon. St. Francis after his pious fast. Reduced to skin and bones and faith.

 

It was Doyle. He'd come close to groaning aloud, gasping around the pain in his gut when he realized it. Doyle, who was hardly more than skin on sharp-planed bones. Wesley, standing next to him while they talked noticed the shock, the look in Gunn's brown eyes. Gunn could not speak. Then Wesley had glanced curiously around, and he had seen....And the yelling and the upset had begun. The accusations. Because they ~both~ felt guilty. They both felt responsible.

 

Alistair stood in the kitchen and watched the two friends bickering. His face wore a look of resignation. The fight being inevitable, a thing both men needed to release their feelings of wrenching guilt.

 

Next to him, Groo continued to eat his meal with relish, completely undisturbed by the uproar. This odd concoction, peanut butter it was called, with a smear of sweet grape jelly..... He found himself rather liking it. It squeezed out from between the slices of bread, and he had to lick it off of his fingers. Which was what Gunn and Alistair had been watching until Xander carried in the frail Doyle. And Wesley blew up.

 

"You couldn't? Why couldn't you? Didn't you notice he was wasting away? Didn't you care? Or is getting your new lover in bed all that is on your mind?" Wesley accused hotly. "Ghod damn it, Gunn...He could have died!"

 

Gunn gaped for a split second disbelieving he could have heard right. "You...you..." He sputtered. All the choking, smothering sense of failure, of guilt and remorse drew to a head. Then he lunged for the smaller man. He was seeing red, his eyes squinted, his teeth clenched.

 

Groo dropped his food and jumped after the tall, infuriated, black man. His sandwich squashed under Gunn's foot, they slid across the floor leaving a peanut butter trail.

 

Alistair was even faster, flying across the floor and wrapping himself protectively around the thin researcher before Gunn could hope to reach the much smaller man and do him harm. An act that would have caused Gunn more problems later, more recriminations. And angered Angel as well as the vengeful Balthazar.

 

Xander looked up and showed warning fangs when the scuffle escalated. Letting them know, those who noticed, not to get closer. He fed Doyle the next bit of soft-scrambled egg on warm bread, selecting it from the monster pile of food on the plate at his elbow. Murmured and stroked it down the thin throat, whispering praise and love. Doyle's dark emerald eyes were on Xander's face.

 

Seeing that look, Alistair felt something wrench in his chest, then he forced his attention back to his thrall and the danger Wesley and Groo might be in. Groo was actually holding Gunn down, Gunn fighting to get at Wes, trying to crawl closer. If Tristan rose....disaster.

 

"Groosalug! Have a care." The pale blond vampire warned as the champion folded his arms around Gunn more tightly. Groo's calm eyes met his. Unworried. Peanut butter coating his lower legs, and one cheek, bits of toast stuck here and there.

 

"Gunn." Alistair said, but stopped. Brows lifted. Surprised when Gunn stayed Gunn, and Tristan did not rise to defend the body they shared. Groo did not trigger Tristan to rise and do battle on Gunn's behalf. Amidst all the ruckus, a promising sign. Alistair took a grateful, unneeded breath.

 

Then Balthazar blasted through the door, game face and fangs, taking it all in. Xander feeding Doyle sending out 'don't get near us' vibes, Gunn and Groo wrestling on the smeared floor, Alistair hugging Wesley, holding him. Balthazar's thrall in another vampire's arms. Balthazar snarled, loud and long, a piercing, challenging shriek, Muscles bunching.

 

Lindsey was with Balthazar, close but not touching. Then he reached out, lay one hand on the dark vampire's arm, not daring to put arms around the other. But the touch...Balthazar closed his eyes, drew in air, his jaw clenching, his snarls diminishing. Lindsey dared take a step nearer, until they touched lightly along their sides. Balthazar let out a mighty shudder.

 

Slowly, carefully Alistair loosened his hold on Wesley. He put his mouth next to the mad as a wet hen man and whispered to him when Wes would have turned back to the argument with Gunn. "Balthazar." Was all the pale vampire said. Wesley's intent shifted, he whipped around looking for, and finding the quivering figure of his master vampire. Then he crawled toward him, and away from Gunn.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

They were gathered into the conference room by that time. Lorne, Fred and Anders having been just about the last to arrive. Only Riley, Graham and Angel were not there. Heri was lounging on the floor, on his back, head resting on the shod foot of his big, Latino merc, Kon's arm draped over the man's leg, his fingers busy stroking through Heri's hair. The merc was observant, wary, still, but accepting all the touches. No resistance showing in his posture. Not yet a thrall through the blood ritual, but soon to be.

 

Gunn and Wes had formed a shaking truce after the verbal altercation of earlier. They stood side by side, Balthazar gripping Wesley's arm possessively Lindsey close behind him. Gunn hemmed in just as well by Alistair and Groo.

 

Gunn stole a look over at his friend, just checking him out as he'd done every minute or so since the fight was over. He didn't like to fight with friends. Neither did Wes. He was looking for reassurance, too, stealing glances. This time Wesley's mouth fell open, chin hitting his chest. He was looking behind Gunn, his hazel-dark eyes huge, staring. Gunn whipped his head around, not wanting to miss what ever it was that so completely caught the researcher's attention, that he forgot what he was saying. It was Angel and his two absent thralls.

 

Riley walked into the room first, Angel close behind him. The ex-Initiative man was dressed in black and grey-green cammo pants and a olive green, vaguely military looking T shirt, his name stenciled over the right breast. Graham crowded in behind him and the vampire, face as unrevealing yet alert as ever.

 

The men recently acquired from the raid on the Initiative and the mercenaries were all in the room, sitting down, finding places on the floor and on chairs or couches if they were unoccupied. That was interesting in of itself, because they felt like, were acting like...well, part of the court, not prisoners, but Gunn was staring at Riley in particular.

 

Riley wore a pale, thick band around his throat. It took a minute for Gunn's befuddled brain to figure out what the hell he was looking at. His mind kept rejecting the possibility that was being suggested . Tristan ghosted up through his body with the answer. A collar. With a lead fastened to the front and folded to tuck into one of the front pockets of his jeans. A leash. A collar and a dog leash.

 

"Gahhh.." Gunn and Wesley echoed each other, both startled out of the capacity for speech. Tristan's approval of the collar, his satisfaction and comfort with it...Gunn shuddered. Tristan ~liked~ the collar. Gunn shook his head reflexively, feeling very, very different. No way.

 

NO way. He was not.. He had big damn issues with the idea of anything like that. He would kill the mother fucker that tried to put one on his neck. Not even Alistair was going to put something like that on him.

 

Tristan's amusement floated and eddied around him. No. Not for them. Tristan would never wear a collar. And nor would Gunn. But... he was pleased that Riley wore one. Riley needed one. Riley looked good in one. Gunn felt a most unwelcome sensation. Tristan found the collar on Riley...arousing. Gunn grunted, feeling the exact opposite of the ghost, for once.

 

Gunn looked more closely. Riley looked...Happy. How the hell could anyone who was wearing a symbol of oppression, of slavery, look happy? Gunn grimaced. He would never be able to understand it. Having it there, around the man's neck, it was worse than taking possession of the men as thralls. Gunn clamped his teeth down on the recriminations that he was about to spew out.

 

Wesley made a little sound, and grateful for the distraction, Gunn turned towards him. Wes' face was filled with a far different expression than his own, envious hunger. Wesley...wanted...Gunn shook that idea right out of his head. Balthazar's eye's caught his as he tore his gaze away from Wes. Zar...approved. Zar was also interested, and unless Gunn was very much mistaken, turned on. Gunn swallowed down the vague sense of unease that was growing. He turned back to watch Angel's tall thrall.

 

Riley was confident, more settled than he had been since Gunn met him. How could that be? Gunn shook his head, sharply trying to dispel the thought. It wasn't possible. The collar could not be the reason for it. It was wrong. It was demeaning, humiliating...it was so wrong. Gunn's jaw clenched, muscles bulging.

 

Alistair came to stand pressed up to him, silently. Not holding or restraining him, not speaking. Just nearby, lending Gunn his support, what ever he needed. Gunn glanced into those odd, beautiful eyes. Impossible to imagine Alistair doing something like that to him, to anyone. Alistair. His...master? His vampire? The thought was not uncomfortable, but also not right. Alistair and he, they were far more equal than Angel and any of his thralls. Gunn owned Alistair as much as Alistair owned him. Gunn was absolutely positive of that fact. And neither one of them was going to wear any damn collar, either. If that was the next step in thralldom...well it wasn't going to be.

 

Groo was next to him, too. That quickly, watching with unconcealed curiosity, noting the new addition to Finn's wardrobe. And Gunn remembered where Groo was from, Pylea. Where slaves were an every day thing. Where humans were called by that same name as cattle. What did Groo think of this? Of Riley wearing a collar? Groo looked...interested. Aroused? Ghod. Gunn shuddered. He was surrounded by perverts. That thought actually brought a half smile to his face. then Riley started to speak, and something, some degree of authority in his voice, drew Gunn to listen, to stop thinking about the bleached leather collar and listen to the briefing. The loop of metal the lead was attached to looked antique, very ornate, solid, old....was his last thought on the collar.

 

"The building security is state of the art. There are voice coded locks and elevators, number-codes to gain access, and an iris scan. There are gas traps and manned check points. Doctor Walsh rarely comes out of the building any more. She doesn't teach at the university, not since her methods and conclusions came under academic review and she was asked to withdraw." The group of men and one woman around Riley listened, even the men who knew the Initiative, perhaps better than he, by virtue of more recent entree, listened.

 

Graham stood, very still by his friend's side. His grey eyes swept the group, everyone in the room, then returned to Riley. He betrayed no reaction that would tell any one how he felt about the new collar. Riley tapped the board, indicating points of access. Explaining the weaknesses and strengths of each point. Every eye was on him.

 

Graham didn't miss the look on Gunn's face, nor the one on Groo's, or Wesley's. Balthazar's eyes blazed with hungry need, though the rest of his face was haughty and coldly indifferent. Graham waited, looking at the vampire, until the vampire couldn't help but sense the gaze on him, and look back. Graham let the Southern vampire read the warning, the caution in his own face, then went back to scanning the room.

 

He recorded every word Riley spoke in his memory, but he was more absorbed with watching every one in the room. The mere binding by blood of the mercs and the soldiers wasn't enough for Graham. Not until the men proved themselves loyal. They would have that opportunity very soon. When Angel moved against the Initiative and the woman who headed it. Soon. Very soon. Graham kept both hands on his rifle. He was looking forward to it. His lips peeled back in a very uncharacteristic snarl.


	80. Chapter 80

  
Author's notes: Consolidating the forces.   


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Dedication: For Bryt. The best thing that happened to Furry Magic, and to Thralls!

 

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Groo sat forward, hands loosely clasped, listening to Alistair's cool, soothing voice. The three of them were seated in the room Gunn and Alistair shared. Gunn had moved there, though neither of them talked about him doing it. He just had. And Alistair welcomed him, made room for his things, accepting it. Now they were on the verge of adding someone else. Gunn wondered if they should get a larger set of rooms. There were plenty of them on the higher floors. He thought that they probably would.

 

Groo had scoped out the room when he was invited in, but said nothing, taking the chair and the glass of orange juice Gunn handed him. Groo ate a lot, most of the time he had something or other in his hand or his pocket. Gunn had put a small drinks refrigerator in the room, so he wouldn't have to go all the way to the kitchen when he was thirsty.

 

There was also a single packet of blood there in the fridge, in case Alistair might find he needed it. Even with all the new members of the court, Gunn wanted to be careful and sure. Alistair fed off of them, but he might need blood when it wasn't available in a warm body. Or at least that was Gunn's thinking. Alistair let him keep the blood. Change it every few days for a new bag. He said nothing. Nor did he touch it. The blood bag made Gunn feel better, therefore Alistair accepted it.

 

"Before the battle, we would join with you and bind the three of us together." Alistair finished with. And Gunn turned back to the discussion. Not that it was much of one. Groo just sat and listened, sipping his juice as Alistair talked and told him what he should know. Groo, usually a talkative man, said nothing, his dark, warm, always assessing eyes on the pale vampire, his normally wide smile a bit smaller, but there, his gaze shifting to Gunn when the darker man moved restlessly in his seat.

 

When Alistair finished his explanation Groo nodded his head. And sat, waiting in case there was more. Alistair let himself show a small quirk of his lip. Very different from his Gunn. And they waited, in no hurry, measuring each other with their eyes as Gunn grew increasingly restless, finally giving in to the urge to speak.

 

"What?" Gunn said a few moments later. He was staring at Groo, who turned his head and watched him when the human thrall began to talk. "That is it? You don't have any questions at all?"

 

"I do not. I am the king's Champion. I must be strong. This is necessary." Groosalug answered. As if the idea didn't bother him. Gunn knew Groo had been with Cordy. Had loved her. And been man enough to walk away, still loving her, while they were still friends when it became clear things would never work with the two of them.

 

"So..." But Gunn couldn't think of anything else to say. He leaned back. Groo had no questions. But he had one.

 

"You been with men before?" Gunn asked, keeping his voice neutral.

 

"No." Groo answered. "I was the champion. The handlers did not want me forming other loyalties. I was kept pure for the princess."

 

Gunn digested that information. He frowned. "So, just Cordelia? Or have there been other women?" He asked more for himself than because he thought it was important to what was about to follow.

 

"Just the princess." Groo answered. "When I returned to Pylea there was much fighting that needed done. Then I joined up with Lance and Arthur. They do not lay with men in that way. They remain chaste, and it was easiest for me to do so while we traveled as companions. I have been with them until I came here." Gunn stared at him.

 

"So, Buffy...won't be getting any sex from them?" Gunn couldn't stop the question before it found it's way out. Crap, as if that was any of his business. Honestly he could care less.

 

"She is their lady. They are hers, in any way she wishes." Groo replied. Gunn nodded his head.

 

"But you aren't worried about bonding to Alistair? Knowing he is going to have sex with you?" Gunn said. And Groo shook his head, face relaxed, calm. Gunn looked over at Alistair. Alistair looked back, his green eyes patient, kind. Not vampiric at all, Gunn noted. He also noted the connection he immediately felt. No need to feel guilty. Or jealous.

 

"No." Groo answered, and Gunn had to tear his mind away from his feelings over Alistair and Groo to remember what they were talking about.

 

"Fine, then. Let's get the show on the road," he muttered. He was going to be able to do this. Get naked and down and dirty with the second man he'd ever done those these things with. He wasn't going to let himself be embarrassed, or unable. Groo could do it. He needed Alistair to be strong. Groo could help that. Gunn could accept it. He had to. Jealousy had no place in this.

 

"Are you well?" Groo asked as Gunn started to undress, his jaw tight. Gunn met his eyes with the most controlled look he was able.

 

"Just dandy." He said. "Fucking fnatastic." He added silently.

 

Alistair got to his feet and came up behind him, Gunn stiffened for the first time since they had joined, become master and thrall. Alistair lay his head on Gunn's shoulder, his arms stealing around from behind, embracing the tall, slim, strong man. His thrall. His very, very jealous thrall.

 

Groo stood in front of them, unfastening the ties of his tunic. He slid the fabric down off of his upper body, revealing his corded, warm, brown chest, paler scars cutting through the toasty color here and there. Built. Scary built. What else could be expected of a man who's entire life had been fighting battles? Even to the exclusion of fucking, Gunn thought. Feeling bitter. But not angry. They were doing this so they could fight again, harder, and live. They were doing this because nothing else made sense and would keep Alistair safer than this. Or at least that was Gunn's reason. He forced himself to stay still, not to turn and see the expression on ~his~ vampire's face. He didn't want to know and to see what had to be in the incredible pale-as-a- spring-leaf eyes. He didn't want to see the desire. He knew it had to be there.

 

Tristan rose up in him, trying to give comfort. But the only comfort Gunn could take was to let Tristan take him over, to roll over him like a cool cloud and raise Gunn's desire like his own. That made the ache in Gunn's chest recede. Just enough.

 

Alistair held him, arms firm and warm, very un-vampire like. Gunn recalled Angel's touch, not recent, and not an embrace, just a touch, and that, as all other vampire touches, had been cool. Only Alistair's touch was warm. Gunn couldn't remember anything else. Just cool, murderous hands. Then that thought was gone. He and Tristan filling him to overflowing. Leaned back a fraction into those cradling vampire arms. Letting themselves be held.

 

"I do not know much of how this binding occurs. But, I assume we must disrobe?" Groo said his voice very quiet. He looked at Gunn standing naked, his eyes shimmering, noting the difference in the man now, seeing the ghost rise, and Alistair behind him, still dressed. He continued to undress as he spoke.

 

Gunn staring at him, eyes shifting from Tristan's to Gunn's and back, melding, Alistair betraying himself with a tiny smile, before he kissed Tristan/Gunn's nape. This man Groo, the self declared Champion of Angel's court, was going to be far different than Gunn. Tristan/Gunn who was his soul, both past and present. He wondered, silently, what Groo would prove to be...in time.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Angel didn't knock on the door before he let himself into Spike's suite. Spike lifted his head the instant before his Sire came through the door. He said nothing, just nodded, and briefly closed his eyes. Then opened them again, knowing it was time. The coming battle wouldn't wait for one human to be further coaxed and wooed.

 

The two vampires exchanged a look, then as one they looked in Sam's direction where he sat in one of the chairs watching the TV that Spike had brought up into the rooms. Spike admitting defiantly and vocally he was addicted to the daytime soaps. Even amid the insanity of the growing court he would do his best to watch "One Life To Live" and "Passions" among a half dozen other shows. Or if that failed, to record them. And watch them later when everything was settled.

 

Sam sensed their attention and turned to see what was going on. His hand stopped in mid scoop in the bowl of buttered popcorn Nic had on his lap. Sam froze like a small mouse finding himself under the paw of a big hungry cat. Two cats. He let the popcorn fall out of his hand and he stood up, facing them. Oz came out of the bathroom. Nic set the big, nearly full bowl on the table. His stomach roiled.

 

"Sam." Spike spoke first. He held out his hand. The ex-soldier shook his head. He took a step back, ending up next to Nic who was sitting in the chair near him. Nic looked uncomfortable when the golden eyes turned to him, making him suddenly the center of their perusal.

 

"No." Sam said, firmly, drawing the eyes back to him. "I am not interested in that. This." He waved his hand jerkily indicating Oz and Nic and Spike. His meaning abundantly clear. "I know what you guys get up to and that is fine. I hear it every night. To each his own. But I don't want any of it. No part of it." He waved his hand, keeping it in front of his body in a stop motion.

 

No one said anything. Nic picked up one of the paper towels and tried to wipe his greasy hands. He felt odd. Like maybe this wasn't happening. Not really. Just his panicked dream, again. Spike had saved Sam. Because Nic asked him to. Sam kept talking, backing up until his ass smacked into Nic's upper arm. Nic dropped the paper towel.

 

"Not interested at all. You understand that? I am not going to do it. Do that. What you do." He was trying to explain without actually saying what he was talking about too explicitly. But it hardly mattered. Everyone in the room knew what he meant.

 

Spike spoke again. "It is not a choice you get to make, pet. I won't make you choose." So kind and gentle. He didn't offer Sam a say in it being him or someone else. Some other vampire. Because that wasn't the problem. It was that Sam wanted to stay unbound, not a thrall of anyone in the court. One choice that couldn't happen.

 

Nic reached up, put his hand on his friend's shoulder. Sam startled, breath catching hard in his chest. He looked around from face to face, but jerkily, not lingering on any face more than a few seconds. He swallowed, actually shrinking closer to Nic. Nic stood up, bigger than Sam, feeling bigger than he usually did, and obligated. Spike was not coming over. He was waiting. Giving Nic and Sam the little time he could.

 

"No." Sam said again, starting to sweat. He gulped. "Uh, uh."

 

Spike moved slowly at last, seeing it wasn't going to get better. Not wanting to spook the man. Sam didn't take the bait. He shivered, and tried to hide behind Nic, clawing at him until Nic was in front of him.

 

"No. Nic." Sam asked, pushing up against his back, Nic agonizing over what to do. "I can't do that. I don't want to."

 

"Sam." Nic said, turning around and taking the other man by the upper arms. "Please. Sam...it...it isn't...." He tried to find the words. It wasn't as bad as all that. In fact he liked it, now. He loved it. And Spike. He loved a vampire and he let the vampire he loved fuck him. Sam could have it, too. It would be like that for Sam. But Sam didn't know it. Sam was afraid of it. Nic couldn't change that.

 

"I can't." Sam said, pulling Nic with him, until Sam's back hit up against the wall. Oz moved to block the bathroom. He said nothing, his eyes both understanding and sad. Sam kept talking, begging. "Don't make me. Ghod. Don't make me."

 

"Oh, ghod, Sam." Nic slipped one arm behind himself and held onto his friend again, Sam wouldn't let him turn or move them away from he wall. Spike came up to stand next to them, Sam catching sight of the vampire over Nic's shoulder. He shrank away, trying to pull free of the hand around his waist, but Nic clung unwilling to let go. Nic felt torn in two. Spike...or Sam...Sam was so afraid.... Sam struggled as Spike moved closer. He let out a sound of absolute terror. Small and plaintive. Terrified.

 

Nic shifted his weight, blocking Spike for the moment. He had to. He pleaded with his eyes for the vampire to understand. Spike went very still. Nic saw Angel begin to move towards them. Spike wouldn't hurt him, Nic knew that deep down. But Angel would if he had to. Now Nic was afraid, every bit as afraid as Sam. He trembled.

 

Sam saw Angel, too. He fought to get free. Nic held him tighter, bicep bulging, round and hard as stone. He was a thrall, Sam was not. Nic was stronger. It was the reason that this had to happen, all laid out in black and white. But Nic found it impossible to let go. Not while Sam was begging him to help. He spread his feet wider, taking a more solid stance, knowing it would make no difference in the end.

 

"No. Don't fight it. Please, Sam, please. Don't fight it. There is nothing you can do to stop it. It will protect you, and Spike...you don't have to be afraid of Spike. He won't hurt you." Nic tried to tell his friend, mouth pressed into the sweaty hair, managing to rotate enough to do that. Giving Sam the front of his body, and the vampires his back.

 

"Fuck no. Oh, fuck no." Sam said over and over. Nic felt like he was going to cry, or throw up. He kept Sam pressed up against he wall, not letting Spike take the man from him.

 

"It's OK, luv." Spike said. "It's OK." Stroking his hand up and down Nic's back like trying to soothe a startled and twitchy animal.

 

Spike's very gold eyes met his Asian thrall's dark brown ones. Angel came up behind him, but didn't say anything. Spike reached over, touched Sam on the side of his neck. The man let out another cramped and tiny shriek. Fear. Disgust. Terror. Denial. He telegraphed all of it in that sound. Spike inched closer.

 

"Sam. You are mine, I took you and I protected you. You are mine." He said it in a calm and firm tone. His voice was even, trying to soothe. "That is how it is."

 

Sam shook his head. "NO!" He said louder than before. He held onto Nic's shirt, hands pale, rigid fists.

 

"I've taken blood from you. Marked you. You have taken Angel's blood. This is just...what is next." Spike stroked his fingers up and over the pulse point in Sam's throat. Sam jerked in Nic's arms. Trying to escape.

 

"It is going to happen, pet." Spike told him. "You don't have to agree, or say yes. It is just going to happen. No need to worry. I'll take care of you." And he pulled Sam out of Nic's hold, Nic making his own sound of protest. Spike looked at Oz, and Oz came close putting his arms gently around the other thrall, pinning Nic much as Nic had pinned Sam, despite being so much smaller.

 

Spike knew he couldn't make Nic feel he was part of forcing his friend to accept becoming a thrall. Oz could hold him. Restrain him, let Nic fight and feel he was trying to help Sam. Without him being able to get free and actually interfere. Nic had to believe he was trying to help Sam for now. Nic would know Sam's fear wasn't necessary or needed. Spike took care of his thralls, he didn't misuse them. And Nic knew it. Right now, though, he couldn't admit that. Not even to himself. Spike would have to comfort him later, along with Sam.

 

Sam kept fighting, struggling in the hold of the vampire as he was carried over to the massive bed. They were about the same height, Spike much more slender. Sam's shoulders were strong, wide and broad. His arms well muscled and tensed. But Spike wasn't struggling to keep him under control. Sam was still only human, and Spike was much more. Angel moved around.

 

Spike lifted Sam up onto the bed, and Sam kicked at him, shouting. Spike bore down on top of him, Angel following, hemming him in. Sam wasn't happy about being caught between them. He elbowed Spike in the face, Spike turning away from the blow so it barely glanced over him, not hard enough to leave a mark.

 

"Nic!" Sam howled at him, not able to see him. "Nic!"

 

Nic couldn't look away, he strained against Oz's hold. "Oh, Ghod." He whispered. "Damn it. Oz...." The call for help brought Oz even closer, his arms stronger, harder, the hold impossible to break.

 

"I can't...!" Nic said, fighting harder, trying to twist free and go to Sam. "I can't let them..." Sam's yells for help were tearing Nic apart, he couldn't resist the need to try and get to his friend. "Let me go!"

 

"Not this time." The voice came from the doorway. Xander stepped into the room. "Next time you can be with him when Spike takes him." He said, walking right up to Oz and Nic. Angel raised his head and met the chocolate brown eyes of his first thrall with his own very gold ones. His face was shifted into gameface. Xander kept walking right up to Oz and the distressed Nic. He put out his arms.

 

"Give him to me. Spike needs you." Xander said to Oz. Oz obeyed at once, no questioning. He rose as soon as Xander's arms closed around Nic. Who let out a sound of frustration and anguish. Oz trailed a comforting hand over his fellow thrall's face. Then he went to Spike, Angel and Sam.

 

Sam's eyes were wild, even though his muscles had tired, and he couldn't physically fight anymore. His spirit wanted to, he hadn't accepted or resigned himself to what was going to happen to him. He didn't want it, and he wouldn't openly give in.

 

Spike didn't bother to undress Sam before he bit him. Long fangs sinking into the bared and vulnerable throat. Sam shouted out, and managed to fight it, but weakly. He had no chance against Spike. Spike smoothed a hand over the short hair, Angel moving to take Sam's face in both his hands, forcing their eyes to meet, Sam's wide with horror. Angel leaned down, kissed him. And Sam tried to draw back, Angel didn't let him, just raked his own lower lips with his extended fangs, all four, and pressed their mouths together a second time.

 

Sam thrashed, until Angel's blood made it's way into his mouth. Then he went still, letting out a noise very much like a whine of need. He pressed up into Spike's feeding mouth, and drew hard on Angel's bleeding lip. Angel let him, rubbing his thumbs over the closed eyelids, feeling human teeth worrying at his torn mouth.

 

Oz slid in next to Spike bringing their bodies into contact and started to undress the oblivious man who was being controlled and fed by one vampire and drained by the other. It didn't take very long. Boots, pants, underwear. Oz tore the t- shirt off last. Sam lay naked, his body aroused, rubbing against both Spike and Angel, large thighs bunching. Angel lowered one hand, put it on Sam's hip and kept him away, pushing him up against Spike until Oz was done undressing the vampire too. Then Oz insinuated himself between Angel and Sam, his motions submissive, looking for Angel's permission. Angel allowed it.

 

Xander watched with only half of his attention, mostly focused on keeping Nic under control. When Sam stopped crying out, and stopped fighting, Nic relaxed some. Xander was not lulled into thinking the danger of rebellion was past. He crooned to the human. Nic cried, big silent tears squeezing out of his scrunched tight eyes. He trembled with wave after wave of pent up nerves.

 

Xander continued to murmur and croon to him. As Sam moaned and thrashed, not fighting to get away any more.


	81. Chapter 81

  
Author's notes: To Claim a Thrall.  
  
A/N: I really fought with this chapter. I am stubborn and so was the muse. I hope it turned out OK. I tried to use Joan's idea of Nic talking to Sam and convincing him....not sure I did it justice.  


* * *

Sam let out a sound of undiluted shock, as if he had been hit in the gut. He lowered his head, fisted his hands and screwed his eyes shut. The two vampires hung over him, and all the security he had was the hand of a werewolf. He clung to that hand fiercely, a wolf was at least alive and Oz wasn't going to bite him. Oz wasn't frightening. He was so small and gentle. Sam held on.

 

Spike murmured to him, offering comforting words. Sam scrunched his eyes shut harder, leaning away, not wanting to look, knowing what he would see. He already felt cool breath along his cheek. Silky, smooth-shaved skin, and muscle. The vampire was so damn strong, and not an ounce of fat on him, all corded muscles. Spike leaned in, resting their foreheads together.

 

Sam's response initially was to turn his head away, straining to put distance between his face and the game-faced vampire. The ridges pushed against his face, hard against the softness. He felt the points of fangs pressing and had to turn back trying to protect his neck. He made a noise of negation. Spike took his face in his pale hands, fingers splayed wide. Not hurting, just holding him in place. Sam's whole body quivered, wanting to run....wishing he could.

 

Nic was filled with distress as he watched the drama and silent struggle unfolding a few feet away on the bed. Xander kept his arms very firmly around the trembling thrall. He rocked him a little. Nic usually was pretty uncomfortable around Xander since he'd seen him change into the most godawful, massive werehyena, and worse into the half hyena, half man form. Ugly didn't begin to describe it. And big, hulking, dangerous. But this time, Xander was warm and caring and almost maternal. But Nic was too upset to enjoy the difference. He was focused on his friend Sam.

 

"I have to help him. I have to go to him." Nic said and Xander lay his cheek next to Nic's, feeling the dampness of tears. He licked it off, the saltiness, the flavor of Nic, young and healthy maleness. Soooo sweet. Xander huffed against the wet cheek.

 

"No. It will not help him for you to be up there." Xander whispered into the dark, spiky hair. He licked again, long and slow. Nic's fresh tears exploded flavor across his tongue.

 

"Please." Nic moaned his need. He trembled in the restraining hold of Angel's thrall.

 

"Oz is with him. Spike is with him." Xander insisted. Nuzzling, trying to distract and give what support he could and not ready to let the other thrall go, not sure it wouldn't turn out to be a mistake.

 

"Please! Xander. He is frightened....he thinks he is going to be raped." Nic begged. He grabbed Xander's corded forearms, squeezing.

 

Xander went very quiet, even his breathing stopped. Oh Ghod. It wasn't fair, bringing up that. He knew what that felt like. He knew that level of fear. Very gradually he released his grip from around the other.

 

Nic stole out of the loosened embrace and up onto the bed. He wedged himself up against Sam, turning him so they were face to face, Nic holding Sam tight. Their legs tangling together. After a prolonged moment of no response...Sam's arms latched onto Nic. Held tight. Fists full of Nic's crumpled shirt. Two sets of arms, winding like steel cables, drawing them close.

 

"Sam." Nic said, running out of things to say after that one word. Sam, unfailingly masculine, never one to joke and be physically intimate or affectionate with men, not even friends, took Nic up against himself and gripped him so tightly Nic fought to draw breath.

 

"Sam. Listen. It is just Spike. It is your master. You don't have to be afraid of Spike. I promise." Nic said rubbing their faces together. His arms were trapped in the other thrall's hold, and he couldn't lift them. He kissed the other, soft and calming, no tongue, no open mouth, friendship, reassurance, the best he could give.

 

"No, I...." Sam wheezed, shaking as Spike moved up behind him, took hold of him.

 

"Yes. Sam this has to happen. Life or death, soldier." Nic firmed his tone. Sam flinched, his body pulling back a fraction. It was Nic's turn to hold on. Spike's eyes met his, gold and brown, Nic begging for help, for time...and the vampire's gaze letting him know that time was something they didn't have. Nic gulped. He couldn't refuse and fight his master. He didn't want to. He trusted Spike. Angel's eyes met his. He feared Angel, but Spike...Spike hadn't hurt him and wouldn't hurt Sam.

 

"As a thrall you are harder to kill. Loyal to him. He can keep track of you. Heal you. You'll be stronger, and he'll be stronger. It has to happen. You already belong to him. He gave you blood, took yours, I don't know how many times. This is just the last part. It can be good, too." Nic pleaded outlining all the benefits. But knowing this was not the time for it.

 

"Not a faggot." Sam mumbled into this ear, then let out a gasp, trying to squirm away. Spike's hand on him, intimately, he tried to roll over and confront the monster.

 

Spike patted his hip. "Take it easy, pet. Just fixing things so it'll be easy on you." The vampire crooned and despite himself Sam relaxed a bit. Spike gently inserted his finger into Sam's tight channel. And the gasp was back.

 

"No...babe." Spike said. Not letting him move away. Nic kept up his desperate pleas.

 

"It isn't about that. He is our master. Yours, mine, and Oz's. Sam, we belong to him. If he dies we die. He keeps us alive and we keep him alive. He isn't going to do you harm. He'll take care of you." Nic shook the other man. "Please listen Sam. Spike will keep you alive."

 

Sam shook his head, but it wasn't the violent movement from before. It was uncertain, hesitant. As if he was hearing the argument, and considering it. At last! Nic breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

"Yes." Nic whispered. "Yes."

 

And Spike moved in close a gain, his white hands slipping around to hold the strongly muscled hips. "Just a bit, pet, not much yet. Shhhh. Take a breath."

 

"Don't hide from me." Spike said when Sam fought against turning onto his back. "This is our first time. Me and you." He lowered his frightening visage noticing the man's withdrawal and understanding it. But remaining firm in his decision. He was a vampire, and he would take Sam as one. As his master. Sam would accept everything from the very beginning. He went very slowly. He kissed the human with his vampire face. He put every thing he had into the kiss, every bit of what he'd learned in a century and a half.

 

He stroked a hand down the sweaty back, feeling the downy soft hair just above the man's sacrum. Sexy, Spike thought, feeling the tingle race through him, toes to fangs. Ah, yes, so lovely, nothing like having a handsome, strong bloke under you, smelling of sex and fear and unadmitted desire. Fighting his natural inclination to throw back his head and scream. Spike would teach him to do that, to give in to the urge and howl.

 

Sam's legs were lifted, parted, spread around Spike's hips, as Spike moved over him, the warmth of the thighs like an embrace. Spike ran the back of his knuckles down the smooth skin of cheek and jaw.

 

"You are lovely, you are." He said. "My thrall, my own."

 

Nic was next to them, his fingers entangled with Sam's on his right, and Oz was just as close, holding Sam's left hand. Above them all, Angel watched, ensconced at the head of the bed. He bit his thumb, using the drips to paint crimson across the gasping lips. This time Sam licked them off without trying to resist. He sucked the bloodied thumb into his warm mouth. No hesitation. Angel's eyes met Spike's. Spike nodded and bent to sink fangs in. And lower...he pressed up, feeling flesh open for him, hearing the small groan of surprise.

 

No pain, just... Sam moaned. Ah, Ghod. How...it was so....he felt his body surrender, felt the vampire gain access to him, so careful, so slow. In, like a breath, then easing, in, then easing, each motion gaining him more.

 

Angel stood and with Xander left the room, closing the door behind them. Xander was upset. Angel slipped an arm around him.

 

"You are too soft, my thrall. I do not wish you to worry. Spike will take care of him. You know this."

 

Xander buried his face against his vampire's neck.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Heri felt the quiet descend. Kon's eyes dropping, the merc going still, hardly breathing. He turned and saw Angel, Balthazar, Remus and Romulus, and Alistair waiting in the hall for him. He stood, moving away from his thralls, walking toward the other vampires, knowing what was going to happen. Not making them come into the room and take him. He accepted it, his fate and his place.

 

He stepped out into the hall, the smallest of them by far. Of an age with Angelus, far younger than Alistair, a bit older than Balthazar, and a bit younger than R&R. The twins stepped forward. One taking his right arm and one his left, holding him, and as a group they turned, going down the hall to an unoccupied room. Seeking an unclaimed bed on which to take an unclaimed vampire as thrall.

 

Heri kept his eyes on his feet. It didn't matter if he was dominant to Remus and Romulus, had been for the entire time they'd known each other. The twins were the agents of his king, of his own master. He would not stoop to fighting them. He was Angelus', to take and mark as the master chose. They led him into the room, no lights, just darkness, not total, the vampires with their sharper than human eyes seeing easily. The door shut and the lock snicked, no light switched on. Balthazar taking up a place at the door inside the room. He would fight any one and anything that tried to interrupt the ceremony of surrender and Heri's claiming.

 

There had never been another vampire thrall. The ceremony in which one vampire takes another and asserts himself as their master and superior was an old and rarely used, if highly honored protocol. Mostly a vampire in these modern times would simply acknowledge that one was dominant and the other subordinant verbally in front of witnesses if needed. But the ceremony wasn't completely unknown. It had been invoked in rare instances.

 

Angel had decided this was one of the times it was to be used. The twins lifted Heri up onto the bed. Not one word had been uttered. It was silent and dark.

 

The sound of a single zipper broke the silence.


	82. Chapter 82

  
Author's notes: Heri's claiming.  


* * *

Heri felt the bed dip, the vampire who was king coming to rest, knees on either side of his hips, over him. Hands feathered down his bare chest, all the way to his unprotected groin, tangling in the fine, soft hair there. Nails scraping lightly, until goosebumps sprang out over every inch of his skin. Remus and Romulus held his wrists, and he writhed against the hold, not as if he wanted to escape, but because this was not familiar. And he did not understand the sudden need he had to push up into the touch. His eyes flew open, his mouth wide in a gasp.

 

Angel raised the fingertips to his face, scenting the musk, the scent of his last thrall, the only one still unclaimed. His heart beat, his blood pounding in his ears, deafening with the command to claim this one. He licked the scent and taste of Heri from his skin, that sweat and the taste of his vampire. His. He felt his face change, and around him he felt all of their faces change.

 

Alistair slipping up to the side of the bed, his golden eyes bright stars in his altered, saint's face. Balthazar watching from the door, arms crossed over his chest. Remus and Romulus one to each side of the bed, kneeling both hands on either of the slender wrists, straining against Heri's struggles.

 

The air filled with the low, resonance of their, growls, bass and below the level of human hearing, only the vibrations, deep and echoing like an ancient and primal chant felt in the very marrow of bones, trembling. It sang through them, all of them drawing them away from the sheen of civilization, back to the dark beginnings of their kind. The ancient, the animal, the beast.

 

Alistair stepped forward to put the box he was carrying on a long, low table at the side of the bed. He opened the lid, filled his hand with the fine powdery ash inside. Bone ash, blood ash. He pinched it into his palm, held it out to Angel, waited. Angel met Heri's gaze as he slit open the skin of his wrist. Blood welled up and he held the wrist out to Alistair. Alistair caught one drop of Angel's blood, then two in the hand filled with ashes. Angel took back his arm, held it out, and fed his thrall. Heri's mouth fastening onto the bleeding wound. Swallowing.

 

The blood moistened the ashes. Alistair worked it though the sacred powder, the remains of cherished others who had died. Brothers, sisters, Sire's and Childer who had died, falling to dust. Gathered up and conserved, valued, stored in the sacred boxes, held at the courts. He rolled the incense into a thick cone. Set it in the tiny brazier on the altar of stone above the bed. Lay a match to it, blowing softly to encourage ignition. It took to the flame sluggishly, smoke rising and curling in a thin stream. The room filling with the fragrance of king's blood.

 

Five hearts thundered, thumped and began to beat. Vampire hearts. Heri tore his face away from the blood long enough to let out an whining growl of his own, until the big hand reached out and cradled his cheek, then he bent and fastened his mouth back to the wound, called to the blood of his king. Angel let each pull at his wrist sing through him like icy tendrils, curling in his belly, awakening his lust for possession.

 

His erection rose, long and thick, standing up away from his body, over Heri's throbbing, pulsing, filled with blood, the male symbol of domination, the primal sword. The sleek head glistening wet, the scent of his desire wafting around the bed. Each vampire lifting his head, licking his lips, all eyes fixing on the shaft, nervous, excited, tense.

 

Heri saw Angel morph into his true face, the ridges coming out, the eyes slanting, shadowed under strong brows, blazing brilliant gold. He saw what he had never seen on another vampire, the four fangs descended, long, ivory white, jagged ends forming into razor sharp points. The double bite only scant inches from his bared and offered flesh. And he saw, smelled, felt the column of the erection pressed to his bare, twitching belly, a threat, a warning and a promise of things to come.

 

He felt the madness stir in him. The hunting call, the predator trying to rise and do battle with his king, sacrilege. With the other vampires who's bass rumbling set his own chest to filling with fighting rages, driving him to the edge, calling, calling, demanding he rise, rise and stand. That he not submit. The erection lay on his flesh, an unnaturally hot bit of thrumming length, not vampiric, male, aggressive, hungry. Heri whimpered, whined, tried to wriggle free...or up, drawn to the demand of his king, of his master, even as his vampire nature, his status as an enthralled master refused to give in.

 

He fought there, under his king. He struggled and heaved, his hips turning and lifting, the rage growing, overflowing him, until he gnashed his teeth, fangs tearing his lips, hands forming claws, wrists still held. Angel still astride him, bent down low, inhaling him, his heat, his scent, his primordial fury, taking the kicking blows onto his thighs and his back like celebrations of the power, of the craft, of the struggle in his vampire. The roaring growl of all of them at once, and together rose, to the level of hearing, and rolled out, making it's way through the door into the hotel, filling it, as head after head lifted, eyes wide and startled.

 

"Mother fuck." One of the mercenaries chanced out loud. "What the hell is that?" No one had an answer for him.

 

The vampires in the room, heads thrown back, faces pointed at the hidden blackness of the sky, mouths "O"d, throats tremoring, fine and pure sound from the deepest pit, rising, rising, fangs showing as lips peeled back. Angel on top the bed and Heri, his arms out flung, his body bowed back, chest heaving naked at the ceiling of the to-be-sacred room. Heri mimicking the bowed body with his own version, his weight supported on heels and head. And slow, so achingly slow the roar dying down, wisping away, and breathing, to clear away, until the king looked down on his vampire, limp beneath him.

 

Angel lowered his head, one arm coming to steal around the back of the small vampire under him. He came to the face of his vampire, his thrall, he stretched out his tongue, licked the salt and trembling beads of sweat and sluggishly leaking tears, the rolling eyes beneath fragile thin lids. Lids he touched with curious tongue and bathed. And Heri's mouth, deep cool cavern he tasted and licked, over fangs that tore his tongue and spouted his blood into open mouth, dribbling down. Heri swallowing the crimson wash that filled him as Angel abraded his own flesh against the teeth of his thrall. Then Angel moved up and back, sliding long fingers, wet with fluid into the hair at Heri's nape. He twisted them, powerful and harshly gentle force, tilting the head back, until the bare skin of the arched throat had nothing to protect it, nothing to give denial, only a curve of pale invitation to fang and hungry appetite. An instant away, a millimeter from fracture. And there, the king set his teeth.

 

He drank, and drank. Blood, sweetest of all, vampire blood, and the taste of his thrall, the urge to drink, to kill and to harvest. To take that was his in all ways. The call to maim and eat the flesh that filled his mouth with the tang of power and unlife, that which animated the vampire. The demand to take it into himself and claim it, make it his own and see the one beneath crumble to dust and be no more, to become one with the ashes and reside in the box of his ancestors.

 

Or...a pause on the very brink of death, the faintest of whispers of vampiric breath remaining. Alistair stepping forward, bringing the second box, the gift of the ancient one, carved and smoothed by centuries of hands, the dark wood polished like satin, and the lid open... Chains. Long, fine, strong, gleaming soft gold, heavy and darkly pure. The pigeon's blood rubies dangling from each ornate end, wrapped around the nearly true dead one, from ankle to knee, and wrist to elbow, by the slow, reverent white hand. The weight dragging at Heri's limbs with no strength left in them, waiting for the decision as Angel bent low, eying him, the sluggish blood flowing from his torn throat, unhealed. The the king, speaking his voice, rich and filled with life.

 

"I bring you to the edge of your true death. Your life or your death are mine to chose." Angel said, his eyes engaged with the clouding ones of his vampire. Heri felt his eyelids flutter, out of his control. He was a thrall, the one who was impossible and yet was. The only one of his kind, the only one possible. He was cold, so very cold....

 

"Yours to chose." Heri choked out, feeling the hard hands on his wrists, at his ankles, the chains pulling him down. Drained as he was he could not fight free, could not fight at all, and yet they held him. He did the only thing he could, a thing his instinct for survival screamed against. He leaned back his head, baring his neck to his king's fangs, inviting the bite again, the death if Angel chose. And Angel sank them home, The infinitely sharpened fangs, a slide of exquisite pain, sucked, drank what little blood was left in him. The beating of the vampire's heart...never meant to be, slowing, slowing, growing irregular, fading.

 

Death. And yet. A sparkling thing, distant. How.... A sound, the growling beginning again. Calling, not letting Heri spill over into the last death into ashes. Not letting him die. The king, bending him. Lifting him, chains streaming behind him, sparkling dark jewels and glittering gold, his arms useless, hanging down at his sides, head lolling back.

 

A flash, silver bright, and the king's neck spewing blood onto them both, bleeding. The blood of a king. Against his lips. His mouth on the flow of it, lapping at it while he is lifted. The blood a river down his body, pooling at his groin, then over, and down, dripping. Angel long and hard, the length of him wet with blood. slick, hot, seeking, hungry.

 

The growl became words.

 

"Who are you?" Angel asked, threatening, fierce. Moving against Heri. Parting his legs, wrapping them around his waist. Blood wetting them both. Heri's struggling beyond, up out of the trance of the chant, the growl that touched everything, filled all.

 

"I am Heri." He whispered, so quiet it was less than breath. He felt the smile pressed to his throat, the rasp of fangs, scraping. The growling roar built, a wave of sound.

 

"Who are you?" Another demand that he think and answer. Heri struggled, moaned. Lost in the chant, the sound of his primitive people.

 

"I am Konstantine's master." He said, panting with the effort it took to speak, to do anything more than concentrate on the mouth that suckled his neck, the palms cupping his buttocks, the air streaming with potent smoke. His ears filled with primordial sound.

 

"Who are you?" Angel demanded, his erection cradled now in the crease of the small vampire's body. Tip poised at the entrance. In the place Heri had not let any other go. He shivered. Fought not to weep.

 

"He who will be Rafael's master." The reply he had to give, barely a groan. The growl rose.

 

"Who are you?" The question a roar now. Angel implacable, face frowning, eyes pure flame and fire.

 

"I....am....he....who......surrenders." A cry. And sobbing. While gentle, terrible hands lifted him, held him. He felt the touch, the brushing of hands opening his body, touching, his shiver of resistance melting away. The scent of the blood ash incense as it burned, Angel's blood filling the air with it's heady perfume. The air all smoke and command. The gold chains cutting, binding, rubies like massive drops of blood, black fire in the dark.

 

And Angel inside of him. The vampires threw back their heads and screamed.


	83. Chapter 83

  
Author's notes: Unexpected Consequences.  


* * *

When the door to the room opened Angel came face to face with the entire household of neglected, excited and worked up thralls. As one, they glared at him, Wesley standing with hands on his narrow hips, brows threateningly lowered, Gunn behind him, towering a bit, looking very unhappy. Xander was in front though off to the left a bit, his face thunderous, broad shoulders hunched, Graham peaceful but even more alert than usual, butted up to him, as if holding him in place, Riley also calm and the only one looking content leaning against the wall on the other side of Xander, an arm around Doyle, pale and yet, looking better than he had in a while.

 

Heri's thrall Kon was nervous and twitching as if about to burst. When the door opened he almost leaped forward, the large form of Rafael only a step behind him, eyes searching the darkness behind the vampire king for any sign of their master. Angel blocked the doorway with his body, and none of the thralls came closer.

 

He transferred his gaze from face to face. Behind them he saw Fred and Anders. He wondered why they were there in the hall. Lorne was only partly visible around a corner, a small cell phone pressed to his ear, free arm waving animatedly then he was listening very hard to whoever was speaking. His dressing gown was askew, off one impressively muscular shoulder, Fred nuzzled up against the green skin, Anders standing warily next to them, swayed against Lorne's big body, a light-brown skinned fist knotted in the silk as if seeking reassurance.

 

Spike had come blasting and irate out from his rooms to join the throng, Oz and his other thralls gathered in close to him while he waited. He was absently petting Sam's hair when he saw Angel come out of the room. Now he put them behind him firmly, and stood facing his Sire, his face most displeased, fangs partway extended. His thralls had gone nearly insane trying to claw their way out of the rooms when the booming-growling, spine tingling, bone jarring, hormone stimulating call had gone out. Spike had felt his skin contract so tight as to snap right off his bones upon hearing it himself, he'd lurched achingly erect instantaneously, his exhaustion notwithstanding and he had had a devil of a time keeping both himself and his thralls under control.

 

Spike shivered, he was still hard as a rock and unhappy as hell about it. Damn Peaches for not warning him,...them. Oz had bruised his shoulder on the door, slamming into it repeatedly in an effort to go through without opening it. Sam had torn one of his nails completely out of it's bed. Spike had tenderly licked the wounded flesh while they waited, crouched in piles outside, for the damn ceremony to be over. Oz had moaned with every healing lick, and ground himself into Spike's lap. Each grind had made thinking more difficult. Every roar had cut through them all like knives, sending them to writhing on the carpet. Not one of them had untorn clothing, aside from Lorne. But even that had been a close thing, Lorne was sweating green droplets by the time it was done, dangling a panting Fred and squirming Anders by the wrists in one hand and fending off amorous soldiers and mercenaries with the other.

 

Now it was over at last, and Spike felt his anger grow not lessen. Of all the harebrained ideas...trust Angel to come up with using the ultra traditional Ceremony of Submission instead of just grabbing Heri, throwing him down and fucking the hell out of him without all the bells and whistles. That would have done just as well and not had so many...side effects. The little vampire was tough, he would have survived it, a bit irritated perhaps, but it would have all worked out in the end.

 

Instead, they'd all been subjected to a sort of secondary experience of the Submission, taken completely by surprise. It was not meant to be held in an unshielded room in an unsecured court in the middle of a city the size of Los Angeles. Christ, it had been a close thing, another hour and it would have been an orgy, possibly the largest in recorded history. As it was, only he, Lorne and Xander had been able to keep that from happening in the Hotel.

 

Xander's outrage had trumped even his own, Spike thought, feeling the tiniest wisp of amusement. The were-hyena's expression had been akin to a pinched faced old maiden aunt's walking into a brothel in her very own pantry. He had held the normally unflappable Graham down by his scruff, and sat on Riley's back, keeping him flat. Anyone coming too close or looking too interested was treated to long, gleaming fangs bared in open warning. The half human, half were-hyena face was enough to put most anyone off, Spike thought ungenerously, even driven horny and mad as they nearly were.

 

Spike let out his own growl, unwilling to be distracted just yet. He stepped forward confronting the taller vampire. "And what the hell were you thinking, doing ~that~ here? For ghod's sake, Angel. That was bloody foolish." He was rigid with fury.

 

Not one thought as to security of the rest of them. He saw that Angel didn't understand what he was talking about, hadn't a bloody clue in fact. His Sire had never paid all that much attention to the workings of the Euro-Court, intent on escaping it as soon as possible. Spike opened his mouth to lash out at the other vampire, really give him a piece of his mind....

 

Angel stiffened seeing Spike's posture turn to one of increasing aggression, drawing himself up to his full height, towering and forbidding. "It is not your place to say. And, William, if you want to keep them, put those away." He corrected the other vampire, pointing at his Childe's now prominent fangs. Spike was stunned. And furious. He hissed, his fists clenching. He was quite angry enough to take a beating in order to wallop his Sire a few good ones in turn. Knock some sense into him. He might be powerful, but he still had plenty to learn.

 

"Oh, Angelcakes." Lorne warbled as he came wading through the gathered groups trailing Anders and Fred, and Angel noticed that all the mercenaries and soldiers were also crammed onto the landing, filling the space from stairs to the room's door.

 

"I'd say it ~is~ his concern and all of ours, pussycat, when you call all the uglies and ugliers of the greater LA area into the Hotel." Lorne said drolly. He waved a hand in the air.

 

Angel frowned for a moment, then suddenly he stepped to the railing past all the others gathered around him on the landing and looked down into the lobby.

 

It was filled, and even more spilled out into the street. Demons, humans, probably witches and warlocks he thought, even vampires, their skins smoking but they were not all outside, that could only mean.... Inside the hotel, looking up at the landing, at him. Every face hungry, needy, wanting. He stepped back, stood still, thinking. They were an the verge of burning where they stood, puffing into piles of ash, but they weren't leaving. Angel looked around.

 

"Did you invite them in? Any of you?" They shook their heads. Every one of them. "Oh, shit." He said. Lorne nodded. "I didn't think it would affect them. They aren't of my line..."

 

"Oh, yes, shit indeed, Angelus Dei, I'd say so." Lorne commiserated brightly, stroking one hand up and down Fred's supple back, the other hand absently toying with one of Anders' taut brown nipples. Anders and Fred both had a hand under the dressing gown, and Lorne was looking very distracted, his horns already several inches longer than was normal for him in public.

 

"And you better do something about it fast, or it is going to be very messy down there, and soon. Some of those demons down there, well, they can be very, very messy...." Lorne warned, breathlessly.

 

Angel nodded, not wasting any more time on the whys and wherefores. The path to the stairs was packed, overrun by his court. The stairs themselves were packed with visitors. The floor below was completely obscured with bodies, standing, gazing up. Some arms were raised as if in supplication. There was no helping it. He took a running step and launched himself, clad only in his black trousers, over the railing into the air. Hands reached up to catch him.

 

They caught him, cushioning his fall. It was softer than landing on a feather bed. Hands not pawing him, but putting him down respectfully, shuffling their bodies to create a space for him to stand. He was the one who reached out and touched them. Each one sighing as he did. Nodding heads, bobbing, when he touched them. Some dropping to their knees, touching his bare feet with adoring hands.

 

Once touched, they melted back out of the way so others could come forward. The vampires coming first, faces grimacing with pain that disappeared, along with the smoking, burning smell of their tortured flesh, the consequence of fighting their way into his home uninvited. His touch forgave them the transgression and healed them, they drifted back, sighing, eyes gone gold, and reverent.

 

His hands were taken and kissed, licked, then released, the cuts and scratches from Heri's protest and final claiming still sluggishly oozing. They tasted him, almost shyly, the vampires. None daring to be greedy, their fellows would tear them limb from limb. The humans frowned at the blood, most shying away from it, but welcoming his nearness, touching him on his bare skin, letting him brush against them, wanting him to. The demons, some nearly twice his height, sniffing, and some tasting the blood or his available skin, others not.

 

He waded through them. Their numbers too great for him to count. He felt someone jump from the landing above, and land among the throng near him. He felt the warmth, the rush of ancient power and knew it was Alistair. A second thump of landing, and he knew it could only be Tristan armed with his axe.

 

He looked up, saw Graham, Riley, Nic and Oz struggling to hold Xander off of the rail, Doyle's arms were around the big man's waist, grimly hanging on. The were-thrall's face was determined, stubborn as he tried to peel Doyle off without hurting him. He almost succeeded in his jump, then Lorne's huge, green fist snaked between bodies and locked onto his belt. Xander snarled, warningly. Ready to take the Host on if it would get him to his master's side.

 

But Angel wanted his thralls safe and out of this crowd. He shook his head, catching Xander's eyes. Held up his hand, palm facing out. Forbidding it. Xander frowned but subsided when he saw Tristan and Alistair make it to Angel's side, the blades of axe and sword shining. He stood at the railing, hands gripping it, the wood creaking under the pressure, and watched with fervent and intent eyes. At the first risk to his master, no one would be able to stop him from springing to the rescue, even if he had to take them all with him on the way.

 

Angel moved through visitors, sending them out, after recognizing them with his contact. That was all they were here for, the recognition and acceptance of him, as king. They took his touch the taste of his blood and left, going back to what ever they had been doing when the ceremony had called them. Others he lingered over, memorizing them. Demons he had never seen before. Vampires he knew were of his own Aurelius line and of rival lines.

 

And a few, like the vampire in front of him now, every bit as big as Lorne, he held on to. He gazed into the dark eyes, streaked with gold, strongly Latin features, and nodded towards the stairs. "Go upstairs." He told the vampire when the dark head was raised up from kissing his hands. Then he moved on.

 

Wesley could be heard, whispering fiercely to Balthazar. "Why aren't you down there? He might need you. Zar!" The last was hissed in frustration as the vampire ignored his thrall, keeping his attention on Angel's progress through the mob. Any threat to Angel was a threat to them all. Lindsey inched up, and put an arm around Wesley, murmuring in his ear to calm him and to keep him from distracting Balthazar who was fixed on Angel's movements and the people around him. From up high he could see the visitors and see what they were doing. He watched them all like a hawk.

 

It took hours for the lobby area to begin to clear enough to see the floor. As the dawn came and the sun rose high, the vampires never hurried, they moved away from the windows, but otherwise waited their turns at him. They waited, eager for his attention, but patient, they still licked his blood from his hands as if it were the elixir of life, still looked at him with worshiping golden eyes, and when he touched them and they tasted him and were free to leave, they left through the sewers, avoiding the sunlight.

 

He looked up around noon. The lobby was empty. He glanced at the landing. Everyone was still there. And the new vampires he had chosen were crouched at the top of the stairs in a huddle watched over by Balthazar and the twins. Xander was on his way down the stairs taking them three at a time now that he was not being held any longer. Alistair's hand came to rest on Angel's shoulder as his second come in close.

 

"Angelus?" The other said, his clear voice a balm. Angel turned, blinking and looked into the green eyes, saw Gunn standing quiet and serious at the other's back, great axe held in both hands, the ghost of Tristan whipping around him restlessly as if still searching for threats. But, even with the great numbers that had been in the Hotel, not one had offered Angel harm. They had come to meet him, to touch him and to acknowledge him. Not to challenge him, though he had half anticipated one of them would.

 

Xander reached him, and behind him, Angel saw the rest start to move down. He was both tired and exhilarated. The unexpected encounter had been more invigorating than he'd hoped any such encounter could be. And absolutely unplanned. Xander was running hands over him, examining him, pulling his trousers off, leaving him nude. And Angel didn't mind. They came around him, his vampires, his thralls, the thralls of the others, his army, his friends, his court. It was their turn to touch him.

 

This time with Xander tucked into his side he touched these more familiar forms. The ones closest to him. He bled for them, a few drops each. Even the newest additions, he knew. He had felt them, their souls and hearts, their intentions, and known he needed them to stay in his new court. They were his. They had come to serve him. Abandoning what ever they had been doing.

 

They surrounded him. He was their king.


	84. Chapter 84

  
Author's notes: A day in the life...  


* * *

Angel sat in his deep, well cushioned chair. He fancied it did well enough for a throne, far more comfortable than the carved monstrosities of the old world. He smiled a small, nearly hidden smile. His hand continued it's slow, caressing movements. His fingers were tangled in silk strands. Lovely, shining, fragrant silk, long, warm, and impossibly soft, pale blond and gold.

 

Alistair knelt in front of him. Angel remembered how he had come into the room when Angel was sitting in the dark and alone. Just thinking. Then, silent, Alistair came in. Saw Angel, turned and sent the reluctant Gunn and Groo somewhere else, so when he came to Angel's side it was just him, just them. Peacefully alone.

 

He'd gone to his knees in front of Angel, and their eyes met on a level. And his hands had raised to smooth a loose lock behind his second's ear. Then lingered to touch the wonderful stuff, to run it between his fingers. Leaning forward to scent it. Angel gave in and took it between his dry lips, feeling the satin slide over his sensitive mouth. Ahhhh.

 

Alistair's hands had gone up, to the ornate clasp that held all that glory tight and away from his beautiful face. And he'd tugged the pin free, letting yards of hair cascade down around his shoulders and upper body to pool around his hips. Angel let out the sound that always grew in his chest at the sight and feel of it.

 

"I keep making mistakes." Angel said quietly into the air. He wound a long swatch of golden hair around his hand, then up his wrist and arm. It was long enough to reach his elbow, a bright, shining sheath. He stroked it like a living thing.

 

"You are the strongest king I have ever known." Alistair said, resting his head on his king's thigh. "But you are a new king. It takes time. Nothing is immediate. One day you will be the greatest of our rulers."

 

"I could have gotten all of you killed." Angel insisted. Not pausing in the petting, spreading it all around them both, his legs and hips hidden under it's almost liquid spray.

 

"But you did not. We are all here, and well. And you are more established as a result of the pilgrimage you caused. We are safer than we were before it occurred." Alistair pointed out. Nuzzling his face into the denim encased thigh.

 

"Why do you follow me, ancient one? Why? What have I done to deserve your loyalty? I am a child next to you. You could rule if you wished. I can feel it, I can feel you, your power, you could be king." If only the European king, the Aurelian king, had been one such as this...then Angelus would not have run from his collar. He would have found his home centuries ago.

 

"I have no desire but to be at the side and the back of the one who has called me." Alistair said. "I did not call you, Angelus Dei, you called me. It is you who was fated to be a king. Not I."

 

"You could be...." Angel began to insist vehemently.

 

"My king." The two words were said with such complete and feeling conviction they stopped Angel's assertion in mid statement. "You will always have questions, and that is one reason why." Angel lowered his head, his chin resting on his chest for a moment. He smiled.

 

"Yes, my second." Angel murmured back, obediently.

 

Alistair raised his own head up off of Angel's knee, looking up, his light eyes sparkled, his face...Angel let out an audible gasp, lips parted in awe. Oh...~ghod~.... Angel sank his hands into the thick locks, fisting them, until his knuckles pressed against the back of the other vampire's skull. He tilted that perfect, exalted face up and leaned forward, drawn to it by a power greater than his own will.

 

He kissed the soft, full, light pink mouth. Alistair canting his head to grant him smooth admission. Lips clinging, sliding damp. So fucking, incredibly sweet. Their tongues met and tangled. Angel's fangs ached, forcing their razored way down, out, fully extended. Long minutes passed. Mouths melding, holding, tasting. Fangs licked, caressed tenderly.

 

"I would lie under you if you needed it." Alistair said against his king's lips when Angel pulled back. He stayed as he was, face tilted up, denying Angel nothing. Waiting.

 

"You are my second. I will not ask it of you." Angel answered back. Wanting it so badly he could not draw a breath into his aching chest, could not look away, could not move. The fist around his beating heart tight as a vise. The groan trapped inside.

 

"But I will. If you need it." Alistair repeated, his eyes heavy with their dark-gold-lace lashes. Their mingled wetness gilding his perfect mouth. Angel glanced up in desperation into knowing, telling eyes that burned for him. He nodded, freed by the look in the pale green eyes. By the honesty of the offer.

 

"I know." He pressed his mouth to the high, noble forehead. The bridge of his fine nose. The sculpted, wet lips. They sank into one another again. Kissed.

 

"I will not ask more of you than this." Angel fisted his hands again. Filled his hands with satiny waves. Pulled away. Stroked his face with the richness of it. Wanted more with every cell in his body. Was clenched against his body's request of it.

 

He stood, pulling Alistair to his feet, moving behind the other to wind up the long weight of his hair. He did not reach down to the floor for the clasp laying there. He instead fished a gleaming one from the pocket of his dark coat. It glowed in the soft light, shining antiqued silver with heavy, deep red, pigeon's blood rubies dangling down like crimson-black robin's eggs from finely wrought chains. Angel fastened the wondrous yards of hair up with the new clasp before bending for the old one. He handed it to his second, and Alistair took it solemnly, the two of them locking eyes.

 

"You will always have my favor." Angel said.

 

"And you will always be my king." Alistair returned, his eyes giving the truth to his words.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Doyle lounged contentedly in the crook of Xander's arm. Xander fed him a gravy dripping bit of black peppered steak. Doyle delicately took the morsel and chewed, then licked the were-human's fingers clean. Xander patted him, reaching over without looking to the plate heaped with yummy chunks. He popped another into the consort's mouth. This time sucking his own fingers clean. Doyle chewed happily, snuggled up close to the much bigger body.

 

Graham busily cut the remaining pound of medium rare meat into bite sized chunks. Alert to the pillaging fingers of the first thrall. He briefly entertained the urge to let the knife slip and nick the nimble fingers in their premature, impatient quest. Then he looked over at Wesley who was grinning like a bandit in the middle of tying his apron 'round his slim waist, having clearly read the other man's desire. Graham let his eyes fill with a rare, mischievous light. Wesley giggled, then slapped a hand over his rebellious mouth, drawing attention from a curious Lindsey. And a suddenly alert Xander.

 

Xander met Graham's eyes as the other turned back to his task. Graham met those eyes calmly. And continued slicing as if nothing at all was amiss. Xander carefully reached for another chunk, paying more attention to what he was doing this time. Graham kept his face completely, blankly, innocent. Busily sinking tines and blade into the tender beef.

 

"What is it?" Lindsey asked from across the kitchen. Wesley gave a muffled response, choked with giggles from behind his hand. His eyes lit with concern. "Wes?"

 

"Tea!" Wesley managed at last, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. "Anyone for tea? I am simply dying for a good, civilized cup of tea." His voice was half strangled as he fought not to laugh out loud. He spun around and grabbed the kettle, shoving it under the tap, not paying much heed as he flipped up the knob to fill it. Water sprayed him and next to him, showered Lindsey head to foot. Lindsey let out a yelp, eyes huge. Wesley stopped and stared.

 

"Oh, my...I didn't mean..." He grabbed a dishtowel and began patting at the the stunned man. Then he looked up and saw the look on his friend's face, Lindsey biting his lip trying not to guffaw, and that was that. Wesley howled. Until he cried. Lindsey joining in. Xander sitting up alertly, vigilant.

 

Xander placed another chunk carefully into Doyle's mouth, stroked his cheeks and watched the two men rolling on the floor in puddles of water pelting each other with soaking wet towels. Graham switched over to the far side of the table, bringing the plate with him, grinning hugely. Xander staring at that unlikely phenomenon for a moment, then peering watchfully over the edge at the writhing limbs while snatching up another bite.

 

Spike stepped cautiously into the kitchen. His eyes fastened on the madly giggling pair on the floor and then fixed on the disappointingly empty kettle in sink. He felt a pang to see it sitting there cold and no leaves brewing in any pot on the counter. Criminal it was. He was dying for a good, hot, brimming mug of tea. And biscuits. Especially the sweet, buttery ones with a corner dipped in bittersweet chocolate. He licked his lips hungrily. The counters were bare.

 

"Oi!" He whined plaintively..."Any possibility of a cuppa?" He added hopefully. He was promptly pelted with wet towels.

 

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Riley and the men arrayed behind him stared at the drenched and grumbling blond vampire stalking out of the kitchen leaving a snail track of water behind. Spike had a big mug of tea in one hand and a handful of partly wet cookies in the other. He also had a smear of dark chocolate at the corner of his mouth and all up his cheek. Normally sleek hair was hanging wetly in his eyes. He was chewing and muttering as he slogged his way to the stairs. He shot them all a quelling glare before mounting the stairs to his rooms. He squelched with every step.

 

Riley, Groo and the men had been training together. Stressing hand to hand and strategy. Riley, pleased with the progress of his troops, had called for a break and they were all heading for the kitchen and a well earned snack.

 

Groo had dashed off in search of Alistair and Gunn, planning on luring them to the kitchen for a companionable meal as well. He had of course made Riley promise to entreat Wesley, who Groo regarded as the ruling lord of the kitchen, to prepare and set out lots of food. Including peanut butter sandwiches. The dark brown eyes had shone with the very idea of the sticky substance. Groo was always ravenous. And he was very fond of peanut butter.

 

But now Riley and the trainees hesitated in the lobby.

 

Peals of laughter were coming from inside their nearby destination. However, the snarling Spike had most definitely come from the kitchen. Riley thought about the wisest course of action. Then his stomach rumbled in with it's pointed opinion. Only to be echoed by another and another hungry belly until there were at least a dozen answering growls around him. They all exchanged looks. Big strapping, hungry men. They licked their lips. Looked over at the innocently open door of the kitchen. Then they all looked at Riley.

 

He squared his shoulders. Saw they were still looking at him. He shrugged, how bad could it be? He led the way.


	85. Chapter 85

  
Author's notes: Spike negotiates and Oz wins.  


* * *

"Time to get ready." Spike said as he entered the room, rubbing his hands briskly. He felt his nerves tingling in preparatory excitement that was perilously near to agitation. Nic and Sam looked up at him. Nic noticing the edge of unnatural tension and drawing in a calming breath. He debated for a moment before reaching out to put a hand on Spike vibrating arm. Spike startled then patted his hand gently.

 

Sam was not so subtle in his reaction on seeing a mildly agitated Spike, he stepped behind Nic, his face rising to a brilliant flush as he dropped his gaze, not looking at the vampire.

 

Sam still had not come to an adjustment within himself over his claiming by the peroxide blond, and his own reaction to it. He had fought against it, every bit as hard as he could at the time, which somehow made him proud, defending his masculinity, but then...there was no debating what had occurred at the end. He had submitted, fully and completely. Thrown his legs up and moaned and pleaded. He had begged. He had screamed his pleasure, his release. He was embarrassed. Especially as he spent a lot of time thinking about what he was going to do when it happened again.

 

"Where is Oz?" Spike asked pushing his nose into the soft, slightly longer black hair of his second thrall. Nic felt the frisson of trembling delight course through him, ear tips to toes. He leaned into his master's body, bending down to lay his cheek on Spike's square, solid shoulder. The sound of the shower turning on answered the vampire's question. Nic felt the change in the tension filling the body of the man in front of him. This time it wasn't his to take. This time only Oz could ease the tightness that wound through Spike like stretched wire. He raised his head depositing a fleeting kiss on the pale cheek. He nudged Spike towards the bathroom door.

 

Nic smiled at the instantaneous mask of desire that flooded over the face of his master. He ducked his chin so Spike couldn't see the knowing grin on his face. Spike looked back uncertainly. Not wanting to reject one of his thralls in favor of another. He worried that he should treat them all equally well, not one as favored over the others...but in his heart.....Nic saw the look and patted Spike reassuringly, giving him a second nudge towards the door. Spike's shining blue eyes went from bathroom, to Nic and Sam, and back.

 

"'S all right. We're almost ready." Nic said encouragingly, taking Sam's arm and tugging him towards the door. It was one of his jobs now, to see that spike got what he needed. Right now, he needed Oz and some privacy. "We need to go downstairs. Just got to get a few things from the arsenal. Back in a few. Come on." He whispered the last when Sam seemed about to pull away.

 

"Hey!" Sam protested, only to be silenced when Nic hissed in his ear to shut up. Sam glared at him, affronted, but didn't protest a second time as Nic dragged him away and out of the room. Then he realized he was out of the room and Spike was left behind and he brightened just a bit. Nic shook his head. Sam was conflicted. Much as he had been earlier on when he first realized what being a thrall was going to mean to his sex life. Or at least what he'd thought it would mean. He'd been so wrong. Nic had every confidence that the other man would adjust as he himself had, starting to look forward to the time he spent with Spike.

 

From everything Nic saw, he fervently believed Spike was the best of all the masters they could have gotten. He counted the three of them very lucky not to have ended up with Angel who still scared the shit out of him, or the cold and predatory Balthazar who gave him the willies, or Alistair who, well, had Gunn, and Gunn/Tristan even terrified the vampires and demons who visited for all he was supposed to be "human".

 

The jury was out on Alistair. Alistair was fascinating in an alarming way. But also...frightening. But if anything at all happened to Spike short of death, (in which case Nic was well aware they were most likely to die), if anything short of that happened, Nic intended to see that he and Oz and Sam went to Alistair. Not Heri, who while he was a thrall as well as a vampire was still not sympathetic, more like a perverse and fatally seductive cat playing with mice when he looked at any other thrall. Nor to Remus and Romulus, who were awfully strange and quiet, insular and happy enough in only each other's company, as well as a bit too beta to protect them from the more aggressive and dominant vampires.

 

Then of course there was the very unlikely possibility Nic was thinking of more and more frequently. In an emergency situation he was seriously considering the option of going to Xander Harris for protection. The once most casually dismissed of the Scoobies. But only if the unthinkable happened and Spike couldn't take care of them. Oz trusted Xander and recognized him as an alpha, Nic hadn't missed that by play between the two were's. Xander was firm, but he was fearless. And he had the strength to back the arrogance up. He would protect those he saw as his to take care of. Even standing up to Angel if need be, their fearsome and broody king. Xander was definitely on Nic's list of who to go to.

 

Spike wasn't paying all that much attention when Nic closed the door quietly but firmly, dragging a stumbling and annoyed Sam along with him. He was on his way into the bathroom, walking into the clouds of steam, shedding his clothes as he went. The duster, his favorite article of clothing hit the floor and was forgotten. His black T and boots off, followed by his black jeans. And he was bare to the skin but for the black nail polish chipping at his fingernails.

 

They were about to go off and tackle the biggest insult to the security and well being of Angel and the new Court. Professor Walsh and her damned, murdering, torturing secret government Initiative. The woman was a menace, her ideas and actions, her programs Hitleresque. She reminded Spike of Mengele. A creepy, deluded butcher-of-a-woman who thought of herself as a scientist. Misguided and dangerous.

 

For all that she had brought him and Oz together, Spike couldn't forgive her. The torture of himself and all the other demons she'd gotten hold of and killed over the years hung vivid in his memory. It was her one purpose and goal. Extermination if anything and everything not human. and even humans if they disagreed with her. She didn't deserve the credit for Spike and Oz being mated, nor for the good that would come of Angel being named king. She certainly had not intended anything positive to come of her actions. That part had been accidental. And probably pissed her off to no end. Which Spike found extremely pleasing. He hoped she ground her teeth until they snapped off at the gum-line! Stupid old murderous cow.

 

Spike was distracted from his unhappy ruminations by a far more pleasant thought. He could see the light skinned, pink-flushed form of Oz behind the glass of the big, very modern shower stall he'd wheedled the cost of out of Angel just a week ago to make his thralls happy. For some silly reason they liked showers. Now they had a shower big enough for all four of them and whoever else they wanted to invite. Not that Spike would permit them to invite any of the other horny buggers in the hotel presently. He didn't trust them to keep their hands to themselves and off his beautiful thralls. Nope.

 

Spike himself preferred baths, all hot and relaxing, he liked to fall asleep in them for a fact, soaking up every bit of warmth into his bones. Preferably with a human companion tucked under one arm, or under both. And far be it from him to complain if yet another was curled between his legs at the same time for a cozy cuddle, though Sam still tended to sulk about it a bit...the cuddling thing. But a shower with Oz, Spike'd take that, too. He unlatched the door and stepped in.

 

Oz raised his head all foamy-spiked with shampoo, blinking through the soap. Spike smiled at him. His hands unable to resist the cap of bubbles. He massaged the slickness into Oz's scalp, well rewarded with a purr of contentment.

 

"Hullo, love." He murmured against the hot, wet, pink lips. Oz slid against his body, sleek as a fur-less otter. Spike thought he just might burst with happiness. This was it. Spike knew it. Not once in all his years had he felt like this with any other. Oz was his other half. His soul. He breathed in the freshly scrubbed scent. Their lips meeting again, soft, lingering. He sank his tongue into the living warmth, let the taste, feel and scent of the other fill him. He reached for a flannel and soaped it up, running it adoringly over the skin of the smaller man, turning him as needed.

 

Spike had something he had to say. It was threatening to spill out of him. It was the real source of the anxiety that was vibrating through him.

 

"Want you to stay here." Spike said against the soft skin of Oz's throat. The idea of Walsh actually getting near Oz, laying a hand on him...Spike didn't even try to old back the shudder of rage.

 

"Hmmmm." Oz returned, arching into the touch of lips on his sensitive neck, and the soapy flannel running slowly over his rounded bottom. It was very obvious from the lack of protest that the werewolf was not understanding him, Spike thought wryly. He'd been certain Oz would pitch a fit. And all he was getting was a very mild, hmmmm? Clear mis-communication.

 

"No, love. I mean, when I go to Sunnydale, to take out the Initiative, you'll be staying behind. Want to know you are safe now, don't I?" He said with more words and explanation this time. He wanted no room for misinterpretation. Oz was staying here. Safe. Locked in his room With threats as dire as Spike could manage keeping his love safe from anyone else who stayed to guard him with their lives. If anything happened to Oz when he was gone, if even one scratch, or a paper cut was on his lovely pink skin when he returned triumphant...Spike would rip them limb from limb.

 

"No." Oz said. His voice firmer than Spike had ever heard it. Unflinching. Oz pulled his head back, gazing upwards so they could look eye to eye. There was not a millimeter of give in the smaller man's expression. His blue eyes were bright as Spike had ever seen them, gleaming. Unwavering. Damn.

 

"I can't stand the idea of you near her, where she might get her filthy hands on you again. Hurt you." Spike shivered at the words, the image they brought up in his mind. "Couldn't bear it, could I? If she got hold of you." He murmured, a note of pleading in his tone.

 

Oz wasn't going to give in. He shook his head, not letting Spike look away.

 

"She won't. You will protect me. And I will protect you. It is the way of things." Oz gripped Spike's waist, the grip tight, powerful, his hands and body urgent. He lifted Spike easily as if he was a small child. There was no strain on his face, his muscles weren't shaking with effort. His breath was not short or strained. He was reminding Spike he was strong. Very strong. Capable. Hard to kill.

 

"It's the way we are, Spike." He set the vampire back down onto the tiles. He tried to stretch up and kiss the bigger man. But Spike wasn't having any of it. This was too important to risk distraction. He tossed the flannel aside, taking the narrow shoulders in his hands.

 

"I need you to stay here and safe." He said again, gaze fierce. His fingers traced the edge of Oz's mouth, down his cheek. "You have to be safe." The need for it burned in his blue eyes, turning them yellow and then purely gold.

 

"I am your thrall." Oz began and when it looked like Spike was about to interrupt, he placed his palm over the opening lips. "I am your thrall. I must be with you." He whispered it knowing Spike could hear it even if he didn't want to. Silenced for the moment, Spike protested by shaking his head.

 

"If the sodding, sick bitch touches you again, I'll kill her." He growled when Oz slowly removed the hand. Oz smiled faintly. And if she was unwise enough to touch the vampire...she wouldn't live to see another day. Oz would take her apart. He had never had anyone like Spike. Spike was his world. Nothing mattered more.

 

"Not happy about this. Not pleased at all." Spike grumbled, tucking wet tendrils of water-dark, red hair behind Oz's ear. Admiring the multitude of freckles. The lush lips pressed stubbornly together.

 

"Yes. I know." Oz knew then that he had won the argument. "Master." He sighed, utterly content. He face bore a look of satisfaction, and as he met Spike's bright eyes, this time the vampire saw complete and total adoration. Spike gasped, his chest suddenly bursting with uncontainable emotion. Oz kissed the pad of Spike's thumb as the gob-smacked vampire stroked it across his mouth.

 

"Oi. Now I'm master am I?" Spike groused, but indulgently when he'd found enough moisture in his mouth to speak. "Now that you've gotten your way, pet?" He leaned down to take a long slow kiss, felt his head spin. He whispered the next, fighting down the rising moan of pure joy. "So then, show us what an obedient thrall gives his Master, hmm?"

 

Oz climbed his master's body, winding slim legs around his waist. He smiled gazing into Spike's stunned and delighted eyes as he lowered himself onto Spike's sudden and rock hard erection. Spike thought he might pass out, his knees wobbling.

 

Just like that, so quickly, Oz opened his warm, slippery body, and his welcoming mouth to the vampire. Melting into the submission in a way that took all Spike's defenses with it. He was rock hard, burning, enveloped in a silken sheath of flesh and achingly, stunningly in love, his heart filled with it to the point he almost ignored the other call of his body. His hands ran over his thrall. Exploring. Worshiping. Cupping the splayed buttocks. It was very good he didn't need to breathe because suddenly, being this close to Oz and feeling the total surrender in the small body made breathing an impossible feat. He was almost incapable of thought or action. Almost.

 

Heroically he recalled himself and set about making his lovely, sweet, perfect thrall scream with joy.

 

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Angel stood on the reception desk counter surveying the large group gathered in the lobby of the Hyperion.

 

Vampires, thralls, and demons. He let his pride in the small army fill his face. His army.

 

Alistair and Gunn would be staying at the Hyperion in LA. They stood shoulder to shoulder with Groo next to the pale vampire, jaw locked, eyes strained, indecisive. Groo took his position as the court Champion, Angel's champion, very seriously. But he was Alistair's thrall first. Angel made that clear. Alistair, Angel's second had to stay in LA and mind Angel's kingdom. Angel refused to be swayed on that decision. And Groo would stay with his master. Angel refused to be responsible for separating master and thrall.

 

Balthazar, blazing with icy resolve, would accompany Angel on the trek for justice to Sunnydale. Wesley and a somewhat unsettled Lindsey would be at his side. Xander would go, as if anyone could have a hope of stopping him, and Graham and Riley. Heri and his thralls as well. The unclaimed mercenaries and former Initiative soldiers would also go. And the three new vampires. Each stronger, more deadly by virtue of a new thrall.

 

Remus and Romulus would remain under Alistair's order in Los Angeles, along with those they had taken to thrall. Doyle would stay, as would Lorne, Fred and Anders. Though Anders seemed offended not to be included in the fight. Lorne however was adamant that if he wasn't going, then neither was Anders. No use arguing.

 

Spike was to go, and with him, Oz, Nic and Sam. Angel frowned, looking around. Spike was no where to be seen.

 

"Where is Will?" Angel asked, Nic and Sam. Nic shifted nervously, and Sam looked tongue-tied to be addressed by Angel.

 

"Upstairs, he and Oz will be here any minute," Nic came close to stuttering, awed by the vampire king. As he spoke a howl split the air, floating down from the third floor, a long, sobbing, wild, keening wail of anything but distress. All eyes turned upwards and more than one face reddened. No one spoke. Wesley vigorously rubbed at his mouth, hiding his smile behind his hand. Groo looked delighted. Fred looked...patient. Xander, indulgent. Heri intrigued. The soldiers scuffed their boots as a group, ear tips flaming. Angel waited until the howl faded.

 

"Well, then," he said at long last. "I think that it is fair to say we should all be ready to go soon." He turned away to hide the grin on his face, leaping off the counter to the floor. Hardly dignified enough for a king on the eve of going to battle, he thought, suppressing a snicker. Good old Will, he would certainly be the most relaxed of the entire company. Except possibly for Oz. The howl had most obviously not come from a vampire's throat, not even one as unconventional as his dear Childe.


	86. Chapter 86

  
Author's notes: On the way to Sunnydale.  


* * *

Spike patted the dash of the big, old, scuffed black Cadillac convertible affectionately. It was pitch dark outside and the temperature was still in the middle 80's with just the hint of a breeze. He was driving one of his favorite kinds of cars, big, rectangular and powerful, it beat a four-in-hand (his second favorite conveyance) hands down.

 

Oz was crushed up to his side by the press of bodies around them, The car filled with the many intriguing scents and smells of his thralls and the others, and Spike still felt the tingles of superior post -coital satisfaction. What could be better? They were speeding through the night towards Sunny-hell, bent on making that right bitch doctor pay. He grinned. Life was good. With any kind of luck they wouldn't even run into the slayer.

 

Wedged into the front bench seat along with Spike and Oz, were Sam squashed next to Oz, with Nic on the outside, one arm braced on the top of the door, the other around Sam's shoulders, his hand laying affectionately along the back of Oz's neck toying with damp reddish curls, warm California night air streaming in through the open window.

 

In the back of the car was a grim, forbidding Balthazar, who didn't like cars nor Spike's habit of speeding, or taking corners on two wheels if at all possible. Two of the larger, and now equally grim and sweating, soldiers were squeezed in next to Lindsey, one gripping the ceiling strap and one the front seat with clenched hands as Spike regained the freeway at jetway speeds after stopping for a fill-up on junk food and sweets at a 7-11 he'd spotted just off the Interstate. The abrupt, tire squealing turn off the ramp had dragged a scream out of the iron faced vampire and the two soldiers who had never been in a car with Spike at the wheel.

 

Every one but Balthazar had a bit of chocolate in his mouth and a can of iced soda courtesy of the vampire driving, who was a firm believer in a day long sugar high being excellent prep for any fight. Balthazar was wedged in between an excited and squirming, chocolate overloaded Wesley and a calm, relatively still Lindsey who was thoughtfully sucking on a grape tootsie pop, almost down to the chewy chocolate center. He and Wesley were exchanging an occasional word around the dark vampire who sat like nothing more alive than a marble statue, rigid with discomfort and distrust. Wesley was taking advantage of the time to chatter away at the other occupants of the car outlining in exhausting detail everything he knew about Sunnydale and the Hellmouth.

 

Spike, being in a good mood, only corrected Wesley every few minutes. The Council of Watchers, from whence much of Wesley's original knowledge had come from, had to have got their info out of a Cracker Jack box, Spike thought to himself, munching said sweet coated popped corn from the super-sized container shoved securely between his legs, keeping an eye out for the prize. Spike made sure he left most of the telling to the ex-watcher.

 

Oz held his own soda and Spike's laying his head against the leather covered shoulder, pleasantly relaxed. He could feel Sam's hard, muscular thigh flexing and relaxing against his own leg as the former Initiative soldier instinctively tried to brake while Spike maneuvered the convertible down the road, engine roaring. In deference to Balthazar's outraged, growling request the punk tunes had been turned off, and the smoldering cigarette put out. But Spike kept up the hurtling speed, openly enjoying scaring the other vampire rigid.

 

The huge trunk of the car was stuffed with all the weaponry that could fit. Guns, shotguns, swords, knives, stakes, and an assortment of other odds and ends, even a few tasers. It was surprising the over laden vehicle didn't bottom out over the regular bumps they passed over. It did yaw alarmingly around corners.

 

Behind them by a few miles was Angel's car, and it was stuffed with passengers as well. Angel didn't drive with the same reckless abandon as Spike, but he was no human either. He did force himself to slow down some for safety concerns. Besides, he wanted the car behind him driven by Riley not to get lost from sight. He had reluctantly agreed that someone who knew where Sunnydale was should drive the third vehicle, a big van, but he was not happy with that person being one of his thralls. Naturally the overprotective Xander went with Riley as his back up.

 

Angel did keep Graham in his own car. He'd much prefer having all of them with in arms reach. But it wasn't practical. Xander had insisted on being with Riley, not willing to have the other thrall alone in a car with two vampires new to the court and a bunch of mercenaries and soldiers who, to Xander's way of thinking, had yet to prove completely trustworthy. With the were-hyena's eye on them they would all behave, of that Angel was sure. Xander was not keeping to his fully human form, perfectly aware he was far more intimidating as a were-human. The other occupants of the van were having trouble not staring at the stunningly ugly hyena faced man.

 

"Jesus Christ." One said, before catching the involuntary comment. He pressed his lips firmly shut and refused to look at Xander for most of the ride. Xander grinned benevolently at the man, showing many, sharp, gleaming, white teeth.

 

Eight others were wedged into Angel's car, Heri curled up on his big mercenary's lap, head lolling on one massive shoulder, Rafael content to hold him, both arms engaged in circling Heri and Kon, Kon being as much on top of Rafael as he could fit, cuddling with his master. Heri was purring like a fat, cream filled cat. Rafael seemed just as happy as the two lounging on top of him. Angel rolled his eyes when he caught sight of them in the rear-view mirror. Heri busy with both hands under Rafael's shirt, which he'd unbuttoned, with Kon's help to the big man's waist. Muscles bulged out. Heri licked them thoroughly, lazily, and utterly happily.

 

Heri had always known how to indulge himself in the moment.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

They reached Sunnydale and the mansion on the outskirts of town that Angel maintained there well before dawn, avoiding even the very first streaks of warning light at the horizon. The three vehicles easily fit into the massive and sun protected garage, sliding into it's recesses one nearly silent shadow after another, lights off ever since they'd hit the city limits.

 

The equipment was unloaded briskly, no talking, one of the traits of military type men Angel approved of, quiet efficiency. He was less fond of other traits, such as the tendency to obey orders even when they knew them to be wrong, then at some arbitrary time, turn and question a perfectly appropriate order. But with these men, now his, he was determined it would not be a problem nor a consideration. They would remain his, and faithful to him and the new court, or they would die.

 

They all trudged up the wide steps from the garage to the first floor of the building, coming into the vast hall, far larger and more spacious than the lobby of the Hyperion, though the hotel was far bigger as a whole. Angel led the way, Xander beside him, morphed back to mostly human form and face, no larger than many of the soldiers and mercs, but given a wide berth any way. The soldiers who had been in the van with him and Riley were still sneaking peeks, having trouble believing it was the same man/creature.

 

Angel himself often had that reaction to Xander's varied forms, yet he valued the animal nature of his first thrall a fraction above the human side if he was honest with himself. While not possessing the beauty of his human form as a hyena, Xander in that form, fully or partially, was so much more than a young man could hope to be. Feral, dangerous, a predator.

 

Angel directed the rest of the crew to the rooms on the second and third floors, windows sun-shielded like the entire house, and tiredly they went in. Not one tried to close or lock the doors to the suites. Even those who had so briefly lived at the Hyperion knew Angel did not like doors closed to him. He had taken to wandering the halls of the Hyperion, checking on the well-being of his people. Each one of them had received a late night visit from the king. Just a welfare check, a touch and sniff to be sure all was well, then he left silent as he'd come.

 

When he'd purchased the Sunnydale mansion-house, Angel had decided to gut it and start over. In order to keep the changes secret from the Initiative he employed demons, not regular construction crews, capable of working through the night and day soundlessly. Though, when he'd learned Xander was working construction, the temptation to employ the then boy had been strong. The outside of the unassuming edifice remained the same, but the small rooms of the previous centuries were gone. Each room was large and airy, if sheltered from unwelcome sun. Fresh breezes stole in from vents, and kept away the musty smell it would have otherwise had being closed for so long.

 

Angel groaned a bit as he undressed, he hated driving long distances, in spite of being a vampire the forced inactivity left him stiff and aching. Graham helped him out of the wrinkled clothing, taking shirt and trousers, and hanging them in the huge walk-in closet. He walked out to find Riley bent back, Angel's mouth at his throat, leather collar undone, dangling from one nearly nerveless hand. Angel hunched down over the big man, every line of his posture broadcasting a ravenous, demanding hunger. The vampire's own throat worked, swallowing great mouth fulls of rich, thrall blood.

 

Riley's eyes were closed, his whole body telegraphing his acceptance of the vampire taking whatever he craved, wanted or needed. His shirt had been shoved up, baring his belly, the fine downy line of hair, gently moving with his breathing, and his jeans were undone, his erection standing up out from between the flaps, hard and trembling, now a familiar sight to Graham. No doubt Riley would not try to stop Angel even if he knew the vampire might take too much. Graham went to the bed and turned down the cool, fresh sheets, hoping to distract Angel from his feeding before Riley had been drained to weakness.

 

Angel's eye met the smaller man's. Graham's grey ones were unflinching, more intense than usual. He knew the purpose of the dominance display that was going on. Riley who had more than once questioned his king's orders was receiving a very pointed message. Graham had little doubt that he would as well.

 

Xander entered the room, done with his prowling, undressing as he came in, flinging off restrictive clothing, not caring where it fell. Graham watched him, then went to the door to close it. Xander went to Angel and rubbed against him, two magnificent, naked males, both dominant, one slightly more than the other, Angel raising his head up to look Xander in the eye. Xander snuffling at the other side of Riley's stretched neck.

 

"No." Angel's voice, thick with blood and hunger stopped him. Xander pulled his head back at the same time that Graham lowered his hand from the knob and turned back to the vampire who had moved Riley to lay back on the bed, collar back in place, buckled. "This is the night before we go to battle. I want them all to hear."

 

The explanation was short, even for the normally brief vampire. But there could be little doubt as to his meaning. Graham said nothing. He followed Xander's lead, and began to disrobe placing his clothes on the nearest overstuffed chair. Angel watched him with hungry eyes. He held out a hand. Then when Graham was close enough, ran long fingers through the soft, short brown hair. Graham arched into the hold, obedient, his hands coming to rest on Angel's chest.

 

"Come, feed your greedy master. I am hungry tonight." He said and Graham raised up his chin to him. Angel's mouth fastened onto his neck, fangs slipping in like four thin, short, but infinitely sharp knives. Graham tilting back his head doing his best to grant the tall vampire full access despite the uncommon pain of the bite, but Angel growled at the stooped position he had to take to reach Graham, and lifted the muscular and naked man into the air. Graham wrapped his strong legs around Angel's waist, aiding Angel in the support of his own weight, though Angel hardly needed it, he could lift six times the weight easily.

 

Angel growled, this time in approval, liking the naked press of Graham's body against his own as he sipped from Graham's neck. Xander bumped up to them, impatient, his arousal long and ready, prodding the underside of Graham's buttocks. Graham stiffened despite his attempt not to. He knew what had occurred between Riley and Xander. He did not want the same for himself and Xander. Xander was a friend, security, and Graham Miller did not have sex with his friends. Proof of that was his staying virgin as long as he had. In fact the only person he would willingly accept and let take him was the one holding him now, his master.

 

Xander moved in closer, pressing himself all along the smaller man's muscular back. It was comforting, not arousing to have Xander touch him. He did not want Xander to get the wrong idea. Graham almost gave into the desire push the were-thrall away, but Angel lifted his head and looked at Xander. Xander moved in, up hard and looming, his big, calloused hands cradling Graham's hipbones, his erection fitting perfectly into the opened crease of the other's body. Not what Graham wanted. And Angel felt it. Knew it. What helped Riley to find himself and his place in the court would damage Graham.

 

Graham couldn't help it, he moved his ass further from Xander, then he tilted back his head and looked up at Angel, only to find Angel watching his reaction already. And seeing, knowing what he was trying to say. Angel jerked his head slightly towards the bed, and Xander moved away, patting Graham, a soothing contact now that Graham knew that sex was not going to be asked of him.

 

Angel held him, their eyes meeting. The usually unflappable grey eyed man had finally revealed something to him. Silently, without a single word, he'd asked for the first thing from Angel for himself. A request from thrall to master. Angel found that he was pleased. And that it was no great sacrifice to grant it. Xander was more than happy with Riley, crouched over the other, who seemed not to mind the half human half hyena's intimate touch at all.


	87. Chapter 87

  
Author's notes: What the Hellmouth wants....   


* * *

Zar turned back to the room as the first of the moans colored the mansion's air. Angel and his thralls. The sounds of other vampires, and their own thralls joined in. A distant music of desire and claiming. He ground his teeth together, licking at his fangs, sharp, throbbing, wanting. Something was growing in him, a compulsion far stronger than he liked, one that seemed to have a life of it's own. He refused to give in right away, refused to look over at his own thralls.

 

The noises grew louder, sweet and raw. The dark vampire listened with approval as he heard the building cries, some low and quiet, others holding a frantic edge. A Vampire Master should keep his/her thralls in line. There was no better way to do that than to claim them. His black-pooled gaze fell at last on the backs of his two thralls who were unpacking and stowing the contents of the three small carry-alls in the dresser. His two tasty morsels.

 

Wesley was still high as a kite on all the sugar that cursed fool Spike had fed him. Spike who was Angel's heir. Balthazar snorted and shook his head. That would never come to good, but it was up to the king to find it out for himself. Balthazar could try to tell him, but would only be ignored. Angel did not hear all the wisdom that was said to him, only the bits he believed, the parts he wanted to be true. Balthazar let his gaze wander up and down over Wes and Linds. Succulent, ripe, his. He licked his lips watching them move, hearing the blood pounding through their veins. He could smell them, a little sweaty from the heat and the drive.

 

Balthazar turned his attention from the line of thought dealing with Spike...and Angel's blind spot for him, and back to his own thralls. They were also a discipline problem, but not one so great as the unruly creatures Spike and Angel had in their harems. His problem was far less than that of either of the other two vampires. Zar shuddered to think of trying to contain the beastly Xander, or the fractious Riley. And to take a lycanthrope to his bed, an animal? He would never stoop so low. His troubles were small compared to those of his king.

 

Wesley could be bent to control with sex, he was constrained by his most conservative British upbringing, he'd never dreamed the kinds of things Balthazar could show him. Lindsey on the other hand could be managed with concern for Wesley, and perhaps with a natural tendency to surrender to authority.

 

The vampire considered them as they worked side by side. His gaze moved from his twitching, garrulous first thrall to the smaller, quieter Lindsey. He regarded his second thrall, contemplatively. Lindsey was more relaxed, almost drowsy, a far different reaction to Spike's indulgences than Wes. He was beautiful, his large hazel eyes holding a strange innocence completely at odds with what Zar had been able to find out about him and his past. He smelled wonderful. Like food and desire and sex. Like life. Balthazar's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. Delicious, beckoning. He felt the stirring of blood hunger rising in his belly.

 

Wesley's crazed laughter interrupted his thoughts. The vampire sighed heavily, hoping the rush would wear off soon. While Wesley was high, Lindsey was low, yawning, casting a few looks in the direction of the most invitingly beckoning bed. Zar watched him, Lindsey looked languid, soft, sleepy and as tempting a feast as any human he had encountered, begging to be taken. Balthazar watched as Wesley led Lindsey into the bathroom to shower. He would come out warm and moist and pliant, and he would spread himself like a banquet for his master and Zar would dine. That would serve his purpose well enough. He settled down to wait.

 

Minutes later a heavy lidded Lindsey stumbled out of the bathroom, pink and freshly scrubbed, falling into the waiting arms of the vampire. His vampire. He snuggled in close, paying little heed to the wandering touches, the hard hands, as Balthazar lifted him carried him, lay him on the bed. Wesley was still in the shower yodeling away at the top of his lungs.

 

Lindsey murmured at being undressed after just having managed to put his jammies on, but when he looked and saw again that it was Zar he relented, melting back onto the sheets, letting the vampire move him as he wished. Peel layers of PJ's from him, like unwrapping a present. Tossing it all aside, his face almost cruelly intent. Lindsey lifted his chin, offering himself with tired earnestness.

 

Balthazar was captivated by the yards of smooth pale flesh displayed in front of him, lit by the stray rays of sunlight just beginning to find their way into the room. Safe sunlight, all the deadly UV rays filtered out by the screens Angel had installed. Balthazar enjoyed the way the natural light warmed his thrall's skin to a rich, polished-ivory sheen. He listened to the thrum of flowing blood just under the skin. His hand moved without conscious thought to rest over the beating heart. Felt the small, rising impacts of the lub-dub on his palm. He lowered his head, taking a fold of skin into his mouth, suckling it, not biting, chewing. Lindsey moved restlessly under him. A tiny moan, uncertain, rising to his lips, sensing the difference, the rising of a new hunger. Balthazar felt his face change, his forehead ridge up, his eyes narrow and grow golden, vision sharpening, fangs descending.

 

 

The siren's call of blood rushing spoke to him. He was hungry, so very hungry. The large vessel in the groin of his thrall's body beckoned him, he moved his palm down, cupped it, closed his eyes to feel the pounding, enticing, luring him. He lapped at his lips, he was parched, so dry.....

 

Lindsey was too tired to respond with lust to his master's touch. Balthazar did not mind that, he wanted blood, not sex. Blood that was under his touch like the wealth of a gold strike. Pulsing, pulsing, just a scant inch below the surface, so easy to get to. A fountain of riches...his to claim.

 

He gave in, bending down to feed at the dangerously heavy flow of the large artery, letting his lips rest on the pulse for a trembling instant before he struck. Lindsey let out a small sound of protest as Zar sank his fangs into the blood vessel, he would have managed to sit up, but Zar's hands held him flat despite the attempts Lindsey made to push him aside. The vampire's strong arms restrained him in place. Blood, hot and wonderful, flooded into his mouth and Zar drank, gulping mouthful after mouthful. The dark spread of his hollow need filled him. He needed more, more...more.....

 

"What the hell....?!" Wesley yelped when he came out of the bathroom and saw his vampire and his fellow thrall on the bed. Lindsey sprawled out moving weakly, flailing, pale as milk, Zar feeding, flushed with blood, his normally brown skin a deep, rosy pink, glutted with far more than necessary for a simple feeding. The vampire lifted his head and a gout of blood spurted up, splashing his chin and chest. Wesley dropped the towel he held, springing towards the bed.

 

"No!" He shouted. Then he whirled and grabbed up the discarded towel almost before it hit the floor, leaped back to the bed, and slammed it down over the wound, pressed it there hard. Balthazar shoved him aside, growling. The malignant desire to feed stealing all of his will...but...he shook his head, he smelled blood, his thralls blood...he frowned in confusion. It was not right to waste it, the precious blood....

 

"No, you can't!" Wesley moaned, fighting to get back to Lindsey. "He's bleeding to death, you are letting him die...." Zar showed Wesley his fangs threateningly, then very deliberately turned back to Lindsey and fastened his mouth over the bleeding wound. The blood that was his, belonged to him.....it was being wasted, squandered....His dark, blazing eyes narrowed, then he licked the edges closed, sealing in the remaining life fluid.

 

Wesley sobbed his relief, just as Xander appeared in the doorway, fearsome, huge, and more hyena than human. Angel was half a step behind. Lindsey was limp, draped over the bed, but alive, breathing. Xander advanced, snarling at Balthazar, who growled threateningly back. Angel's arm looped around his first thrall's deep chest, the muscles bunched and ready to leap, only the hold of his master stopping him.

 

"Balthazar?" Angel inquired, evenly. He took in the confusion in the darkly handsome face.

 

"My king?" Balthazar responded, blinking dazedly, angry about the intrusion, but...it was his king.....and Lindsey, he put out his hand, touched the new, pink scar at the groin...why had he done this? Why did, even now, the urge to do it again ring through his body?

 

"Do you care to explain this?" Angel asked, as Spike skidded to a stop behind him, coming close to thumping into his back.

 

"No." Balthazar answered truthfully. He wasn't sure that he could. He wouldn't do this. Sacrifice his thrall for nothing.

 

"Stake the fucker." Spike said from the hallway. The hissing malice in his voice extreme, not the Spike they all knew from LA. Angel raised a brow, inhaled the air, tasted it, the rising, out of control anger. Xander growled warningly, trying to squirm free and take the action he felt was warranted. Angel did not let him go.

 

"Quiet." He said his voice very low, even. He raised his eyes up to meet those of his vampire, fixing Balthazar with spiraling golden orbs. Angel spoke again, this time with their eyes locked.

 

"Humor me, or I will remove them from your care." Angel said in turn, tone mild. Balthazar felt his lips peel back from his fangs. Angel shook his head. "I will say to you as I said to William, if you wish to keep your fangs, do not bare them at me." Angel set Xander firmly behind him and advanced into the room.

 

Balthazar slid off the bed and to his knees, bewildered. "I do not understand...." He said, lifting his gaze to his king. He rubbed at his face, his chest, raised a bloodied hand to witness the fresh blood smeared thickly across it. He stared at the blood, not fully understanding how it got there.

 

"You were going to kill him." Wesley said raising up from his examination of Lindsey, his fingers entwined with those of his friend. His voice shook, his hands trembled. "He's going to be alright. But, you almost killed him. Why would you? He is your thrall. You are supposed to take care of him." The look he sent Balthazar's way was confused.

 

"He is mine, to do with as I will." Balthazar snapped, warningly, but his tone did not really agree with the words. He shook his head once more. He was trying to work it out himself, why he would waste a thrall, and the position a second thrall gave him. Why he would kill one of his claimed, an feel so little concern while doing it? Unsettled by his loss of control. It was not a thing he would voluntarily do. He knew that for certain. Why then...why...was he going mad? Even now he could hear the call of the weakening blood song, the urge to drain his thrall, to suck out the last dregs of life and hold it, shimmering, in his mouth, savoring it before swallowing it like some rich and exotic vintage of wine. Lindsey's life.

 

"No." Angel said. He bit into his wrist. "I can feel it, the Hellmouth. It wants you." He bit into his hand, deep into the pad of flesh at the base of his thumb. "Drink from me, my vampire, and regain your mind." Balthazar did, hands turning into grasping desperate claws as he held on, dragging in a mouthful, two, then Angel pulled the hand away, his wound sealing as they watched, not a drop of the precious liquid lost. He held Zar against him, head against his abdomen, still on his knees, one hand stroking the springy, black curls.

 

Balthazar licked his lips, his eyes clearing, until, at last satisfied Angel freed him. Balthazar turned at once, going to the bed and to Lindsey. He sprang towards his thrall. Lifted him with careful, anxious arms. Lindsey muttered something, his words slurred beyond understanding. Angel stood over them, the dark vampire and the pale, drained thrall he cradled. Angel opened a cut on his thumb, pressed it into the lawyer's blanched-white mouth.

 

"Drink, thrall." Angel said. "He has very little resistance to supernatural influences. Sunnydale is the last place he should be. On the lip of the Hellmouth."

 

"I will take him away." Balthazar said, his voice coming out harsh and rusty. "I will take him, and Wesley back to Los Angeles, to the Court. Away from....from this place."

 

"No. He will be fine now. My blood will shield him. The malignance was so subtle...I did not feel it at first." Angel stood straight. Xander had sidled up to him, His right-hand man. Strong, unswayed, impervious to the evil magics, inured to them from a life of living under the influence of the Hellmouth. Blood, in this case even stronger than Angel's own.

 

"Come." Angel said to Xander. Xander's blood would provide the vampires with a line of defense the Hellmouth could not breach. Angel's blood would bind them to him. Angel brought Xander's wrist to Balthazar's mouth. Xander made an unhappy sound. Angel held him close.

 

"I need you to do this." He said. Xander met his eyes, and didn't react, didn't startle or jerk when the sharp fangs punctured his skin. He let Balthazar drink, the vampire watching him warily as he did so.

 

"Then we will check on the rest." Angel stroked the back of his fingers along his thrall's cheek. Xander looked down, saw the mouth fastened to his wrist and whined.


	88. Chapter 88

  
Author's notes: Cordy comes to call.....  


* * *

"Hi, Lorne." Cordelia greeted him as she breezed in, lovely in her sleek, pink silk suit and matching Italian pumps. She deposited an air kiss to his cheek as he leaned down. Then she asked, "Where is Angel?" In a tone of voice that was a little too casual.

 

"He stepped out." Lorne said dryly, recognizing the beginnings of a fishing expedition. Fishing for information, Cordy hated being out of the loop on anything. He was not about to reveal the court was not at full strength to anyone, not even Cordelia. He tucked one of her gloved hands into the crook of his elbow and led her over to a pair of chairs. "How nice to see you. How are the wedding plans coming along?"

 

"Wonderful. You can't know how great it is to have an unlimited account around town. I mean the Grimm knows everyone, and everyone knows the Grimm." Cordelia enthused, fluttering her hands as she sat and removed her gloves. She looked like a fairy princess, all covered in cotton candy, Lorne thought. Diamonds discreetly glittering, if anything that large could do anything discreetly. They winked at her ear lobes, and on her fingers, and at her wrist. Flawless, clear, crystalline fire.

 

"Must be nice." Lorne agreed, looking up the stairs to the fourth floor as Fred and Anders appeared. Fred was reading a book almost larger than she was, struggling to hold it and to walk, while tracing a line with one finger at the same time. Her glasses were a little crooked on the end of her nose, and one long, smooth lock of her hair had escaped it's barrette. She was utterly entrancing, Lorne thought. Anders was unsuccessfully trying to help both support her and the book, and that had both of them nearly falling down the steps. Cordelia followed Lorne's gaze.

 

"Oh, wow." She said under her breath. "How did Fred get such a hottie?" If it had been anyone else they would have flushed with embarrassment at having voiced that question aloud. But it was Cordy, and she said what she thought. Lorne smelled the instant rise of pheromones in the brunette perched next to him. Of course he couldn't blame her, Anders and Fred were both hotties in his opinion, but he still didn't like Queen C eying up his man.

 

He smoothed the scowl off of his face just in time. Cordelia turned towards him, wound her long, manicured fingers around his arm, grazing him with her nails. He shuddered, not a man who had ever gone for a lover with claws. Not even before he found Earth and claw-less humans in abundance.

 

"Who is he?" She asked, her eyes gleaming, her pink tipped tongue licking out over her lips.

 

Abruptly he had had enough of the game, of the possibility that she would misunderstand just who Anders was, and to whom he belonged. Lorne was not about the share.

 

"Mine, cupcake. All mine." Lorne said, patting her hand as if consoling her. Fuck being polite, this female was a barracuda. He was not going to tolerate her flirting, innocently or not, with his man. Best to let her know exactly how the ground lay.

 

She drew back, staring from the green demon to the blond man sedately attired in light tan trousers, a cotton button down shirt, and an argyle sweater vest that Lorne thought was too adorable, though Anders had grumbled when Lorne showed it to him. Then the green demon had offered another ensemble...in retina searing violet, and Anders suddenly became very happy with the tan morning suit. The collar of the shirt was open, showing the strong, young throat off to best advantage. Lorne nearly licked his own lips thinking back to the morning and how that slightly salty, slightly musky skin felt and tasted under his own tongue, while Anders had writhed, beaded sweat trickling down his bare chest, head thrown back....

 

Cordelia giggled, startling Lorne back to the present. He frowned down at her.

 

"Of course he is. Fred couldn't get a man like him without help... He's gay!" She seemed to enjoy this immensely. Lorne frowned harder. Cordelia could be dense, she also could be deliberately mean. And Fred was not going to have to face that from her anymore, not if Lorne had any say.

 

"Fred, too." He said. Watching his two progress down the steps and towards the room he and Cordelia were sitting in.

 

"Fred, too....what?" Cordelia asked puzzled, dabbing at her flawless makeup with a tissue while peering into a compact. Just then Fred walked by, immersed so completely in the book she would have stumbled right into them if Anders hadn't guided her to the long couch instead. Cordelia stared after them. Anders stared back. Lorne tried to think if the young man had seen Cordy before now...he didn't think so. Anders was exhibiting the typical het male reaction to seeing her for the first time.

 

"Fred is mine. Too." Lorne said. And lifted his bloody-crimson colored eyes up to meet Cordelia's brown ones as she tore them away from Anders. She stared at him, as if trying to figure out the joke, and if it were worth laughing at. He had succeeded in surprising her.

 

"You are serious." She said at last. "You are sleeping with him. And with Fred? I don't..." She almost added she didn't believe it. Didn't believe anyone would want to sleep with Fred... But it came to her that she did. She believed Lorne was having sex with a man and a woman. The blond and Fred of all people. She sent a critical eye over the big demon. She'd hardly had more than a glimpse of him unclothed. He was bigger, harder, more muscular than she expected. She remembered his chest, very appealing, muscles flexing, powerful, strong, not at all the Lorne she'd thought she knew. Not as big as her Grimm, and there were seven of hers...

 

"Fine." She sighed. "They are yours. The Grimm has told me all about this demon-y claiming thing." She waggled her fingers in the air next to her head. She smiled wryly. "I thought it was strange...." Her eyes traveled over to where Fred was finally safely seated, reading and muttering. And Anders was looking over at Lorne and his visitor.

 

"Sooooo," She said, pleased to see the young man, gay or not, was staring at her. "How is everyone? I've been so busy...." She tore her eyes away from the young, fit blond man. Refocused on Lorne, and he thought, 'oh boy, here it comes....the real reason she is here...'

 

"How is Doyle?" Cordelia Chase asked.

 

Lorne wondered about her motivations. Was it ego, did she want to hear how he was missing her, pining away, that he had nearly starved himself to death over being abandoned yet again, or was she really concerned about him? Watching her, Lorne decided it was a little bit of both as best he could figure out.

 

So how to answer? She had left Doyle. High and dry. Gone off with a stranger, who admittedly had taken the first step by carrying her out...still this was the first time she'd found to ask about him, and the Grimm had not held her prisoner, not if she had been able to buy out most of the expensive shops in LA. And while the Grimm in it's seven bodies probably did take up a large part of her time...if she had been interested in how Doyle was, she could have found a way to ask before today.

 

That being so....Doyle deserved privacy and dignity. He was just starting to turn the corner to recovery. The last thing he needed was his old flame, the one who had never acknowledged him to the world, not even their friends, to come waltzing back into his life.

 

"He is fine." Lorne supplied. Thinking how to get her out of the Hotel. He wouldn't have been so worried if Xander was around, watching over Doyle. But Angel-and-all were in Sunnydale. Doyle currently was with Alistair, Groo(who openly and honestly delighted in the half demon, and could be trusted to feed him on every one of his frequent trips to the kitchen) and Gunn, or Remus and Romulus if the first two were busy with court matters. And last night, Lorne, Anders and Fred had kept the skinny demon close by, in the middle of their sleep pile. Even after one night it was apparent Doyle missed Xander. And so was vulnerable. Not at all ready to see the former love of his life.

 

No room for anyone else. Cordy could see Doyle later, when he was fully recovered and when Xander or Angel were around. Not now. If anything happened to Doyle Lorne would be unable to forgive himself, and Xander....well, Xander would bite him. Lorne leaned back, smoothing his tailored cobalt blue trousers and crossing one long leg over the other. He eyed the tip of his shockingly purple, size fifteen shoe.

 

"I would think, sweetcakes, you would have more than enough to do with your fiance?" He let the question rise at the end of the sentence. The Grimm would not take kindly to a rival, especially one they themselves had named as Consort. It could cause great discord between them and the new court of Angelus Aurelius. And stubbornly, Cordelia would refuse to acknowledge that she was putting anything at risk.

 

"He has gone off on some demon business. For Angelus. Or about him, or something." She emphasized, pouting. "And I am bored. Can we go out and hunt some vampires? Or demons? Or anything?" She wailed. "I am so bored. All I've been doing is spending money. The Grimm will only let me meet nice demons. No fighting, no visions, no stakes...it's boring!"

 

"Doyle is Angel's now." Lorne reminded her, bluntly. "You weren't happy with Angel last time you were here, and the part that pissed you off, sweetie hasn't changed. He is still banging every one of those lovely boys." Lorne was making sure Cordy had the full picture. He heard a small sound from the couch. Anders was studiously avoiding looking at him, but the red ears and flushed cheeks were indicative that he'd been eavesdropping.

 

Dear Anders was trying to adjust to his role in the life of the court. And in Lorne's bed. He was not unhappy about being treated to screaming, flailing, soul-trembling orgasms every night at the hands of a very male, very alpha, very demon-y, very ~large~ lover. While it was happening he was wildly enthusiastic, but when he was out and about, he tried to pretend it had never happened, and that no one else knew who was rocking his world. As if anyone could misinterpret his howls of pleasure. Lorne suppressed his desire to grin and seize up his darling, blushing man and carry him up to their bed. See what he could do to that blushing, warm, silky, tanned skin....

 

"Looooorrrrnnnneeee!" Cordelia Chase whined, pinching his thigh hard and not acting at all repentant when he let out a yelp, rubbing the spot. "Pay attention! I'm bored! I need something to do!"

 

"Princess?" Came the voice from the doorway, timid and uncertain.

 

"Princess?" The second voice was almost in tandem with the first, but a little muffled. "What are you doing here?"

 

Cordelia leapt to her feet, clapping her hands together. "Groo! Doyle!" She squealed. Lorne groaned, shaking his head. Not good.

 

They stood, Lorne noting that Groo was holding Doyle's hand, and finishing off the last bit of a peanut butter sandwich he held in the other hand. Lorne was pretty darn sure Cordy hadn't seen the hand holding yet. Or she wouldn't have been so happy. She let out another squeal and threw herself at the two men.

 

Groo caught her in a one armed hug, and Doyle did the same on her other side. Lorne noted with a perverse satisfaction the little pink designer suit was going to need a trip to the dry cleaners. Peanut butter was so hard to get out of silk.


	89. Chapter 89

  
Author's notes: Bad Groo, very naughty. And Dr Walsh gets her just desserts.  


* * *

Cordelia was squealing and hopping up and down for far longer than Lorne thought was absolutely necessary for a greeting involving her two old lovers, one of whom she'd never had the decency to acknowledge in the first place and the other she had given the cold shoulder when she became bored with him. Of course on the positive side, she was holding both of them, not ignoring one in favor of the other. Not rejecting Doyle openly.

 

Groo was grinning and having a good time with it. Doyle had his eyes closed and his face looked alarmingly dreamy. Lorne stood up, concerned. That was not good. Doyle should not be allowed to fall back into an attachment with Cordy. Not until he was completely over her and could see her as a friend only.

 

Lorne didn't have to act, though, because just then, while he was still racking his brains on just what to do, Gunn and Alistair entered the room. Groo's hand had stolen a bit lower that it should have, his big palm cupping the brunette's admittedly luscious rear. Alistair's growl filled the room, wall to wall.

 

"Thrall." He growled, deep and forbidding. Just that one word, delivered in a bone-crushing tone. Cordy spun around. Groo removed his hand as if she were on fire. Doyle's eyes popped open. Alistair loomed his face carved from chilled marble. Gunn moved to impose himself between Doyle, Groo and Cordy, succeeding in his effort to make it look like he was there just to give her a hug. Well, enough so that Cordy didn't say anything or object. Lorne wasn't quite ready to breathe a sigh of relief yet.

 

Alistair stalked into the room. His face was thunderous. One of ghod's avenging angels, so beautiful, so deadly. Lorne bit his lip, not sure what he should do.

 

It was Fred who saved the day. She bounced up, finally distracted from her book by Alistair's rumbled warning, and saw Cordelia. She let out a delighted squeal and ran to throw her arms around the other woman. Anders, who had seen, heard, and better understood the meaning of the timbre of the ancient vampire's voice made a grab for her, trying to keep her out of harm's way, but missed. He lunged after her, intent on saving her from injury, but Lorne, jumping across the intervening space, managed to snag him. His grip hard enough to pull Anders completely off of his feet. Lorne bundled him up against his chest and watched Fred and Cordy.

 

Alistair diverted from his first target, Cordy, to his second. Groo. A Groo who looked sheepish. For about two seconds, then he was swept up, off of his feet and into Alistair's arms, over his shoulder and borne out of the room. Gunn reached out and gently put an arm around Doyle. And despite his protests, guided him out of the room.

 

Lorne was left with a suddenly immobile armful of his man, Cordy with a eager and happily chattering armful of Fred. Who had just saved her, unwitting, from a vampire's possessive retribution. Lorne looked out of the door and down the hall. Alistair, Groo, Gunn and Doyle were disappearing from view. Groo was not going to be so lucky. Or luckier, depending on your point of view. Alistair, unless Lorne was way off, was about to do a little reclaiming....

 

Lorne felt a definite itch at the base of his horns. Anders stopped moving, his horrified gaze flying to where Cordelia and Fred stood, then up to Lorne's face. He knew what the scent of Lorne's hormones did to him, and that he had no prayer of controlling it. He whimpered, even as he started to climb up Lorne's big body.

 

A shocked minute later Cordelia Chase let out a shriek and clapped both hands over her eyes.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Angel swept through the park, keeping an eye on William and his thralls. The Initiative soldiers had finally spotted them, and were following. Getting noticed by the troop of boy-soldiers had been a chore in of itself. Spike was moving as slowly as possible without giving away the fact he was waiting for the poorly trained idiots to grab them and whisk them away, into the depths of the Initiative stronghold.

 

At the same time, Angel was keeping an eye on the group of soldiers who had picked up his own trail. They were an even more nervous bunch, and he was just hoping that he would manage to be taken without one of them shooting him or one of his thralls. Xander who had been absolutely forbidden to change even partially until they were all the way inside, had adopted the happy, oblivious, chattering personality of Sunnydale Xander. Riley was serene next to him, replete on Xander sex and Angel's blood. Graham was quiet, alert and relaxed leaning with what was supposed to be drunkenness into Angel's side.

 

It took some maneuvering but at last they managed somehow to "allow" themselves to be captured while seeming to be trying to avoid it. Then they had to miss over and over every one of the myriad opportunities they had to escape.

 

Angel stumbled as they entered through the large armored door of the Initiative. In the guise of steadying himself he grabbed on to the door. It was the work of less than a fraction of a second to drive his finger through the three inch thick steel and snap off the locking mechanism inside. Ahead of him Xander fell to the floor, his timing perfect, his acute ears picking up the tiny in drawn breath that meant Angel could use a small distraction. Then he righted himself, making slurred, drunken complaints and letting the soldiers behind him kick him into the elevator. Angel followed, Graham giggling madly, his sharp eyes hidden, Riley being led along docilely, head hanging.

 

Far below as the elevator descended, Angel caught sight of his Childe and his Childe's thralls as they were shoved into a cell.

 

Xander was nuzzling one of the soldiers or trying to, escalating the tension, and the incipient disgust of the men holding them prisoner, hurrying things along as effectively as if he had planned it all. Angel silently approved, his thrall was an asset, and he was filled with pride.

 

Xander blinked big, brown eyes, filled with both childlike innocence and very adult seduction. The man nearest him recoiled from him as if he were a venomous snake, and shoved him into the first available cell, pushing Angel and Graham in after. Graham seeing how Riley was being herded by another soldier away from them, managed to trip out full length and knock Riley down to the floor with him. He fastened his arms around Riley's legs at the same time Angel seized one of Graham's ankles and tugged them both over. They, clinging to each other, were pulled into the cell. Angel crawled on top of them to divert attention from the deliberateness of his act, not wanting anyone suspicious yet. He wanted to be sure Walsh was here, inside the facility.

 

"Christ, Finn, would you look at yourself? What the hell is wrong with you? Get it together." One of the men hissed, as if embarrassed for Riley, rather than by him, he also stopped another of the soldiers from delivering a sharp blow to the small of Riley's back with the butt of his rifle. Angel memorized the man's face and scent. He would be going with them back to LA. If he survived.

 

Crouched in the cell, the men and vampires surveyed the inner dimensions of the Initiative. Riley, Nic, Graham, and Sam looking for new additions, differences, Oz, Xander, Angel and Spike taking in the whole thing, memorizing as much of the layout as they could see.

 

There was a flurry of activity and a door burst open. Dr Margaret Walsh stood at the top of the steel stair surveying what amounted to her own kingdom. Not an unattractive forty-ish woman, blonde, slender but well built. But, nothing could make up for the inhuman gleam in her eye, the unholy zeal of a one track mind, a mind incapable of seeing any view point but her own, of accepting or considering any opinion she didn't share. Maggie Walsh was a sociopath. A scientist driven mad by her lust for information at all costs, without the concern for moral considerations or human feeling.

 

He had entertained various options before this moment. Letting her live and stripping her of the Initiative's resources. Letting her live, but only as a prisoner of war. Granting one of the European demons master status over her. Or killing her. He now knew only one option was viable, she had to die. Her madness shone in her eyes out through her sick, sick being. While she lived she would always remain a threat, enslaved, prisoner, or free.

 

The doctor's first objective proved to be Spike. She strode over to the cell holding him, Oz, Nic and behind them hiding, Sam. Her cold eyes flicked from one to the other, dismissively. Then she looked right at Spike.

 

It was all he could do not to shove his hands through the Plexiglas and grab her around the throat. That would be suicide if they were not prepared with a fast way out of the cell. The four of them would not be able to escape through two, arm sized holes. Spike remembered the gas that had been used on him the last time. It might still knock him out, and it would knock out his thralls for hours. He had to be patient. He wanted blood, but Angel just wanted victory, a bloodless one if it could be had.

 

Oz sidled up against him, doing his best to look small and meek. He ducked his head into Spike's neck, as if seeking comfort, as if he was afraid, a shiver ran over him. "Don't forget the chip." He breathed.

 

Spike felt his hair stand on end. The chip. It was supposed to be working. No one here knew for sure that it wasn't. They would assume he couldn't fight back. He had to stay in control, or they would know. And the bitch would gas them all in the blink of an eye. No, he had to wait. "Ummmmm, love." He breathed back into Oz's ear. Oz, who this woman, this bitch, had hurt. She had set Spike up to violently rape the love of his life. She had almost succeeded in making him take Oz by force. For that he could not find forgiveness for her. And for many other things she had done.

 

"Well, Hostile 17. We meet again. It was never my intention that you should be able to roam the country unsupervised. I am afraid you will have to be more cooperative, or I will have to keep you in one of these little cells until you are." She tilted her head looking him over from head to toe. Then her eyes moved over Oz, sharpening with a voracious, clinical curiosity. "I think a full medical exam would not go amiss, either. For all of you. I'd like to figure out why you kept this pathetic specimen instead of discarding him when something more suitable came along."

 

Her gaze roamed over Nic who dropped his eyes. He had always wondered if she fancied him, he thanked ghod she had never found time to pursue her interest. He felt his gorge rise at the thought of her hands on him. That was even worse than remembering her forcing him to agree to be injected with Spike's serum. Subtly threatening him with imprisonment, experimentation and eventual death if he refused. A short and terrible life as one of her lab rats, or Spike. He was eternally grateful he had chosen Spike.

 

"Wot?" Spike howled feeling Nic's tremors and not liking the way the uppity bint was looking at his thrall. "No bloody way." He hammed it up, exaggerating the accent. All the while wanting to rip her apart. She would do it, she would dissect Oz, fuck Nic, and cut him up too, if she had half a chance. Looking for something she could never find. Because she didn't believe in it, didn't know it existed, for her it didn't exist. Love. He loved Oz. He loved Nic, hell he was even starting to love the nothing-but-troublesome Sam. But she would never find that love at the end of her scalpel, discover it on her lab table.

 

"I think we'll keep your thralls confined, just to keep you behaving." She sneered at him. "You shouldn't have tried to defy me. There was no way you were going to win. Surely you knew that." He bit his tongue to keep from answering her like he wanted, like she deserved. He could smell fresh demon blood in the air. She had been busy cutting up some other poor unfortunate when they had interrupted her.

 

"You're a right nutter, think I'm gonna let you keep my lads." Spike hissed dramatically, still not able to let her see his eyes, let her see what he was ready to do to her. What he was prepared to do. Exact revenge.

 

"You don't have any choice," she returned, coldly. "Do it my way, or I will simply get rid of you and find another vampire who can be trained to do the job."

 

She had no idea, Spike realized, about the bond between thrall and master. Killing him would kill them. Not free them. But she thought they could be recycled at will. Passed on to her next minion vampire like nothing more than snack cakes. Her next, artificially created master. Spike shuddered with outrage. Luckily the woman misinterpreted it and thought she had won. She smiled with cool satisfaction.

 

"You are nothing more than beasts. Ruled by your instincts, unable to employ logic, or the higher centers of the brain any longer. It will be a pleasure to examine your brain. At least you will provide some data in repayment for your life." She sneered at him. And moved on to Angel's group.

 

Spike waited until she turned her back, then he slit open his wrists. Oz and Nic crowded in next to him in the guise of gaping after Walsh. What they were really doing was hiding the blood dripping from his hands onto the floor, touching him to augment his power. Blood that moved as if sentient, towards the Plexiglas shield.

 

In streams thin as a hair the blood sped up the walls and into the air vents. It was Spike's blood, and it was Angel's blood. For hours Angel had fed the other vampires his own blood, as fast as he could replenish it, he fed it to William and to the other four who had come to Sunnydale with them. Spike had had no idea what so much of Angel's blood could do. He felt alive, almost human, yet far more powerful. He felt Angel, as if they shared one body, shared the same will, the same thoughts. He shuddered again. He also felt every single cell of the shed blood as it raced to do Angel's bidding.

 

Angel stood slumped against the side of his cell. He felt blood dripping down his own fingers to fall to the floor. He felt it sink into the floor, into the walls. He felt it seek out every vampire, demon, witch and warlock trapped in these horrific cells at the mercy of this woman who had no mercy in her.

 

"Angelus. The great Angelus. I have heard so much about you." She smirked at him. "I thought I would be more impressed."

 

"Weren't out t' impreshhhh ye..." He slurred. Making sure his movements were awkward, as if he were drunk. She curled her lip, just as he felt the first micro-drops of his blood find another demon. Then a second, a third, after that it was like an explosion inside his mind as one after another all the inhabitants of the cells fell to Angel's blood. He suppressed his triumphant smile as he peered over at her. Then he decided to make his victory even more decisive. Another drop fell from his fingers, breaking into smaller and smaller drops and rushing invisibly over the flooring towards the soldiers she thought were under her command and control.

 

It was merely the work of a few minutes until all those in the vicinity were his, his blood singing in their veins. A few more minutes and there wasn't a soldier in the entire building that wasn't his. A bloody yet bloodless coup, he thought to himself and the thought raced through every mind he was connected with.

 

He pushed away from the wall and stepped forward to the Plexiglas barrier. Riley straightened, eyes clearing, shoulders squared he placed his hand on his master's shoulder. Xander copied the action on Angel's other side, and Graham pressed himself against the vampire's back.

 

"Maggie Walsh," Angel called, his voice low, lilting, and terrible to hear. "You are condemned to death for your crimes against my people." The words were beautiful, delivered as they were in the deep and musical voice of the vampire King speaking his mother tongue. Dr Walsh's brow furrowed. The meaning was far less beautiful.

 

"Come, Maggie, come to me." He called to her as he raised his hands to the barrier. His fingers spread, like stars on the clear surface, shining. He pushed, and all around the great room the shields fell, cracking, shattering, clattering, freeing the inmates. He let his hands fall down. Stepped forward, out of his own cell, followed by his thralls, all moving as one being, even as the doors to the Initiative burst open and the rest of his company streamed in, stakes and swords held high.

 

Balthazar was at the head of them all, sword lifted, face cold, eyes glittering like the fiery pits of hell. He spotted Angel at once and stopped in the center of the room.

 

"Men!" Dr Walsh shouted. "Security has been breached. Repel the invaders!" She turned and ran toward the safety of the stairs and her office. Balthazar caught her before she had gone more than two steps. She fought kicking and scratching. He held her at the end of one of his strong arms.

 

Angel moved toward them one slow step after another. He halted in front of her, standing still until she stopped her struggles and looked up at him. Then she craned around looking for her soldiers. Angel smiled as he saw her confusion growing. He lifted a hand, then slowly folded his fingers into the palm. And all around them, the Initiative soldiers sank to their knees and bowed their heads.

 

"This is unacceptable." She yelled as it dawned on her none of her men were resisting.

 

"Yes," Angel agreed. "It is unacceptable. We do not disagree on that point, Miss Maggie. But not exactly on the reasons why." He made sure she was looking at him when he began to speak, in a firm, quiet, yet carrying voice. The prisoners, so recently freed, stopped in their haste to find and exit and escape. They turned and listened to him.

 

"By your actions I was made to be what I never sought. It was your hand that made me king. Thus I am your creation, your king, too. ~Your~ ruler, doctor. It is only right that I should have dominion over you since you chose me fit to lead." He took the time to look around the room. From face to face. To connect with those he ruled and even those he did not.

 

"It is the privilege of a king to govern, to serve his people. It is the duty of the king to protect them. It is the sorrow of the king to see them ill used. I have witnessed what you have done without the least remorse. From me you stole my life, my destiny to serve as an agent for the Powers That Be. To earn the right to be human again. I can never have that now."

 

"But worse, far worse Maggie, you stole the lives of my people. I have heard recounted the tales of the tortures you wrought. My own thralls were torn from their lives and forced into servitude, a sentence that was not of their choosing, they are enslaved to me, and that bond can never be broken. In your arrogance and ignorance you made me capable of far, far more than any man, demon or vampire should be capable of. You gave me a Circle of Blood without even knowing what you did. I did not want any of that. But now I have it, and I can not do without it." He drew in a breath of air. Tasted all the scents, all the species in this room at this moment.

 

"You forced me king." His dark eyes gleamed harsh gold at her. She licked her lips, speech stolen from her by the arid dryness of her throat as she looked on the thing standing in front of her. He spoke.

 

"I have not killed in cold blood for centuries. But today, I shall. It is my duty as your judge to be the one who spills your blood and ends your life. For my people. For those you have slaughtered, for make no mistake, that was what you did, you murdered. And in the dark place you call your heart you knew what you did. It is not I who have no soul." His hand lifted and she watched it with fear filled, disbelieving eyes. Watched the index finger grow, extend, nail sharpening into an ivory blade.

 

"Aye, Maggie, this day you die."

 

She barely felt the blade pierce her flesh, so sharp was it, then it became suddenly an exquisite pain, an agony that stole her very breath as the vampire leaned in, drawing the air from her lungs along with her life, as if he inhaled her. The air around her turned silver, then gold, she shook from head to foot, mouth working to gasp in precious oxygen, hand lifting to clutch at the one buried in her chest.

 

"Sire!" A voice sounded behind her and she whipped her head around to see who it was.

 

Spike ran up closer, his face filled with pain, anger and rage. And grief. Silent after the one word. Angel stilled, waited for Spike's request. Spike looked around for something to fill his empty hands. Unlike his Sire he could not bear to touch her.

 

Balthazar saw the need and offered his king's heir his own sword. Spike's hand closed over the rough grip, and he met Angel's eyes as he raised it high, their gazes fixed on each other's for a split second. Then Angel broke the stare and nodded once, stepping back, sliding his nail from her chest. Spike let the sword fall in one smooth perfect arc of blinding retribution.

 

Maggie Walsh opened her mouth to scream, just as she fell, head one way, her body the other, exploding in a puff of dust.

 

"Ashes to ashes." Angel said, tapping her remains from the toe of his shoe.

 

"Dust to dust." Spike finished, tears trailing tracks down his face, the memories of the ones he'd known who died here, in this awful place, filling him, He handed the sword back to Balthazar, turned on his heel and walked back into the welcoming embrace of his thralls.


	90. Chapter 90

  
Author's notes: Groo and Alistair. A thrall takes his place.  


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Groo hit the mattress and bounced high. He was up, over the far edge, and had his arms raised in an instant, defensive, his broad shoulders hunched, poised to respond to any attack. He placed the width of the bed between him and the angry, blond vampire. A worthy opponent, one he would have to use every advantage to be able to hold his own against. If indeed he could. This one, this man/vampire was an awesome force, Groo had seen him fight. A fighter of great skill and strength. Groo was privileged to fight such a one as he.

 

Alistair's pale green eyes were colder than the arctic wind, he raised his chin, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched, lips pressing into a thin line. He removed his sword and laid it aside with unusual care, as if trying to find the time to calm himself. He did not want to give in to the temptation to use the blade. He unfastened the ornate gauntlets that covered his wrists and up his forearms, he did not want to mistakenly strike Groo with them, either. Being angry was the worst time to be strong.

 

He shuddered, trying to draw in a slow breath, hearing and feeling it stutter unnaturally in his chest. He tossed his light armor after the sword onto the thick carpeting. Then followed his jacket. He stood eerily still in trousers and shirt sleeves, his gaze on the floor for a time, then after he felt a small measure of control return, he raised his eyes, pinning his thrall with the quelling chill of his regard. Flecks of warning gold swirled through his eyes. His breath came through his teeth now, hissing, his temper hot.

 

Groo looked at him wary, alert, ready to repel any hostile advance. He felt the tension, the heightened senses that came to him before any battle, the greater the battle the greater the thrill. But. There was a strange wrongness to this thrill. As if it should not be. As if he knew in his heart there was no honor in this fight. As if he were in the wrong. His brow furrowed. He had never felt less than sure of his cause.

 

The vampire took another step forward. Slow, deliberate, wide shoulders set, imposing. Not a rush to engagement. Groo looked at him. Tall, straight bodied, strong. Gloriously beautiful of face and of body. His countenance, perfection, pure and unmarred. Eyes that would make man, woman or demon weep with envy or with joy. A mouth that promised heaven's touch...and delivered it. A mouth...that had given to him an oath. And asked for his pledge.

 

Groo relaxed a fraction. This was ~his~ vampire companion. Angel was his king, yes, and he was Angel's Champion. But. This one was his...master. His right arm, his mate. He licked his lips, uncertainty growing. He had been taught from earliest memory to fight. To use might and superior skill to win victory whenever he faced a challenge. But just now, he was waking to the realization that fighting was not the answer here. This was not a challenge. To fight Alistair was wrong.

 

Alistair looked at him longer, seeming to float forward, grow larger, strangely still, as if he was outside the circle of the living and their limits. Soundless. His presence growing, growing, overwhelming. Filling the air, filling all the space around them, though there was still the bed between them. Groo blinked. The force was...

 

"You would fight me?" Alistair asked. His voice was a low breeze, warm but with an edge of chill that threatened to expand, to swell and fill every molecule of the room, to change the air to ice. Ominous that threat in the calm words. Frightening.

 

"Depends on what you intend." Groo responded. Not aggressively. More confused than ever. Wanting to understand why he was, for the first time in his adult life, feeling uncertain in the face of a altercation. Why did he feel that there was no honor here, in this conflict? Why did he feel that he should find his knees and apologize, beg forgiveness? He frowned at the lovely one across the width of the mattress from him. He remembered the man's touch, the feel of his hair, brushing like satin across his face, his chest, his belly. So sweet that caress.

 

"You had your hands on her." Alistair said. And that was it. The reason. So simple, seeming so unimportant when he had given in to the impulse, the desire to put his hands on his former beloved. He had followed old habit. She who had once been his woman to love and make love with. His woman to please. That was past. He had forgotten.

 

Groo lowered his hands, letting his arms fall to his sides. This was the reason he doubted. He nodded. "I did." He agreed. And in so saying admitted fully to himself he had been wrong. He had been the one to break covenant. For the first time in his life. He had broken covenant. He had been the one who broke faith, broke his word. Was forsworn. His act a little thing but huge in it's implication.

 

Alistair looked at him, sadness alongside that terrible cold that filled his eyes. "You would fight me, Groosalug? Raise your fists to me? Mine own thrall?" He said and his voice fell even lower, far more quiet, more ominous, a rich liquid spill of sorrow and betrayal.

 

Groo took a moment to consider the question. He had done something grievously wrong. More than one thing. Cordelia, his princess, had always had that kind of power over him. He had been destined for her. Yet, his history with her, his time with her was gone. He had a new position and a new place. He had known of the obligations agreeing to become a thrall entailed. Nothing had been hidden from him, he had given his agreement, his hand and his word. He had sealed the bargain with his body, in joy, celebrating the pact. And then he had broken it. Not vigilant against the lure, he had reached out. Sinned.

 

"Did you not know what you did...?" As if reading his mind Alistair asked him. Groo shook his head. He had known, if he had but thought of it. Thought it at the time. If he had taken a moment to think instead of letting his body's urge speak for him, act without deliberation. He had felt lust, and acted. With dishonor. It had not been the hugging, the greeting, the love still in his heart. It had been the touch, too intimate, too sexual. That was his failing.

 

"I knew, but I did not think. Will you let me explain?" Groo said accepting his wrong now. Admitting it fully. Wanting to make it right if he could. It was his obligation to do so.

 

Alistair shook his head. "Now is not the time for words and explanations. It is time for your submission, thrall." He as the master who had been wronged could accept nothing less. It was what he was, his role, his instinct that would not let him take less. Death or surrender. Only so.

 

At least the hardest edge had faded from his tone, Groo thought. He nodded. Stepped out from behind the shelter of the bed. And very slowly he lowered himself to his knees, hands going behind his back, wrists clasped in opposite hands, pulling his shoulders back. He spread his knees, tilted up his face, his dark eyes meeting those of his master. His full of remorse and acceptance of Alistair's evaluation of his sincerity and the appropriateness of his plea for forgiveness.

 

Never in his life had he knelt fully willing to another man. Yet he did so now. If he had to ask himself why now, his answer would be because the vampire in front of him held his pledge of honor. Because he had been honest and direct and held up the bargain they had made. It was also his apology. And his thanks, for not making him do this in front of others. In front of Cordelia. His princess. Groo would have done it if he had to. But Alistair was granting him privacy for his correction. A sweet boon.

 

No. Groo told himself. Not his princess. Not any more. She was not for him, no matter that she had been promised to him all his life, and he promised to her, though she had not known of it. That was past. All others were past for him. He had only one who owned and possessed him now. One who he would serve for the rest of his life. One who would take him to bed and to pleasure and to claiming. One who he could touch intimately, and with whom he might fully couple. No other. Not any one who struck his fancy, not Miss Cordelia Chase. Not his princess.

 

Groosalug tilted his head back further, letting his eyes drift closed, shaking his hair back from his face and neck. Not watching, denying himself preparation or warning, not set to defend himself. Surrendering to the vampire he had bound himself to for as long as they should both live. He bared his throat, showed the vampire the pulse pounding there, summoning him to feed, to take, to drink, if he should so choose.

 

Alistair came like the softest wind. Suddenly there, beside Groo, on his knees. Hands taking him by the arms, grip tight. The vampire pressed himself close, drew in the scent. Groo never flinched, making no effort to resist. Giving himself over to his master. Alistair's low growl vibrated through both.

 

Alistair peeled the shirt from the big body, shredding it down the sides, with slow, tearing, deliberation, the front and back, until the shredded cloth was tossed away. He tore the pants from the strong, sculpted thighs, sturdy, well made hips, again slow, like a craft, an art, until his thrall was naked before him. Unconcealed, uncovered. Then he lifted him. And for the second time in only a very few minutes, Groo found himself on his back on the great mattress they shared each night, this time laid there gently, though with firmness that cautioned him.

 

How odd that the fingers that touched him now trembled. Groo reached over his head, grasped the bars of the head board. Forced himself unmoving. He felt the sudden spill of warmed silk as Alistair let his hair free. He wanted to let go of the bars. To allow himself to fill both hands with thick, shining blond tresses, but this was not for him. This was for his master. This was to reaffirm their bond, to serve the vampire's need, not Groo's own.

 

He raised his knees, let them fall open, baring himself to Alistair. Alistair moved without hesitation between Groo's wide spread legs. Taking his place in a position of dominance as Groo submitted. Alistair's hands sliding to rest at the juncture of those indecently muscled, beautiful thighs. Thumbs pressing, until Groo found he could open still further, surrender even more completely.

 

He let out a sound, that of a small creature giving in, a sharp and quiet gasp. Alistair sighed, a pleased and contented response, moving in tightly, his arousal hard and full, surging in. His hands took what they wanted, lifting Groo, settling him, raised on pillows.

 

Fingers lightly stroking. Wet, slickened fingers, touching, circling him, while he lay open and unresisting, flexed arms holding the bars, straining to be still. He wasn't yet used to this. His body stayed tight when the fingers entered him. How many times had he lain under the vampire? Alistair. Less than half a dozen. And his body was new to it. Yet a thousand years of knowledge led him, caressed him, and prepared him. Then took him unready. Shocked.

 

The force was careful, but unforgiving. A pressure in, taking him, he gasped. Groo arching his head back. A groan shaking him, deep and from the depths of his soul. There was no slowing or stopping it, he was possessed, filled, one long, smooth glide, in deep. His cry rose, higher, sharp edged at the enormity of his piercing. For this was far more than the taking of his body by a lover. This was a claiming of his being by his master. His soul touched, his soul claimed through the vehicle of his body, hard and powerful and sweet. Oh ghod, sweet and deep.

 

His body would not obey him. He could not move. He lay, unmoving, the vessel ridden, and he accepted that. He accepted that he was owned. He accepted he was claimed. His hips gone liquid with the sensation, the tide of thrusts both in and out. Like his breath, and as full of life, the pounding of his heart, his ears full of the sound, the touch of breath on his face, on his neck. He arched. And the invitation was taken.

 

Fangs sank into flesh, blood flowed, was swallowed and savored, on the rise of the cock penetrating him, dilating his core, filling him. Salty hot, Alistair drank the blood, joyed in the snugness, almost too tight, around his shaft as he thrust, their pelvises meeting moistly. Drawing a panting grunt from the body underneath. His thrall.

 

He listened to the tension, to the building pants. He rode the thighs spread wide and cushioning. He took what he wished, raised his head from the bleeding throat, licked, and licked the wounds closed, his hips working. Groo letting out a keening cry. Ah, electric! Wild. Eyes burning gold. Alistair wound his hand in the short brown-blond hair, twisted, and forced their mouths together, blood smearing from his feeding.

 

Far more important, the wet heat of tongues coupling. Joining in battle. Slick and sliding. A dance of sex, above kissing passion, and below, a riding lust.

 

He was going liquid, to heat, to wet and fine. He rode the shaft piercing him, nearly crying in his growing need, and still the vampire took him, made him last. He trembled, raised legs shaking, heels resting on the small of the pale back.

 

Groo cried out. Moaned, fighting to stop his release before the satisfaction of his master. He shook his head tearing his mouth away from the maddening slip of tongues and biting lips. He cried out, wild and shocked, his ejaculation a surprise, harsh ripping spurts, as he was still being filled and taken with no end in sight.

 

Alistair smelled the sharp tang of bitter release. His eyes flashed, He lick one broad, flat lap across the gasping mouth. The ripple of the flesh sheathing him was maddening. The clench and release, the thrust. Sobbing filled his ears. He took it, pulling out nearly to the tip and pushed back inside. Lovely heat. Wetness, slick and so fine. Good.

 

The body of his thrall, his altar to worship, his sacrifice to make. He struck again. Fangs long and exquisite, parting the flesh of the long throat, and suckling. Good, oh, so good. His cock swelled, and Groo let out a muffled shout, heels drumming on the vampire's back, driven far beyond coordinated movement.

 

His hands came down, loosing the railing of the headboard. Intent on grasping the body that slid over his, the hips that drove into his slow and harsh. His fingers hooked, his legs squeezing tight. He had melted, he knew, his body formed around the organ inside his center. His genitals, large and going soft. That hard pole rode over his most sensitive space, over and over. Each time a shuddering, gasping reaction, utterly out of his control. Too much, too intense.

 

And there. Alistair found it. The surrender of all. Groo cried out. Magnificent body seized by shuddering climax again, dry but no less, sobbing to exhaustion, the golden eyes watching, the saint's beauty sharing, feeling it. This time joining his cries, high and sweet, like hot, honeyed syrup flowing wild through their veins. Groo's mouth wide, eyes startled, staring, breath quick panting. Alistair's head falling, forehead resting on the other's temple, scenting semen, blood, sweat and the ultimate, willing surrender, taking long licks of the dripping sex-sweat. His fingers curled, his knees sliding up, digging into the mattress, his body surrounding and cocooning his thrall's. Enveloped.

 

They panted, two lovers. They shivered together. Fluids mixed. Becoming slow and lazy. One taken, one claimed, one claiming. Falling into a single heap. Sticky wet. And lazy tongues touching. Tip to tip, a taste. A remembrance. A sharing. A joy.

 

"Groo." Alistair said. Quiet. Deep. Like a song.

 

And Groo turned his face in nuzzling, stunned, weak.

 

"Ah, ghod." He said, a tiny breath. "Ah. Ghod."


	91. Chapter 91

  
Author's notes: The beginning of Justice, and a bit of a surprise....  


* * *

Angel found Balthazar when they returned to the house. His own thralls were washing and preparing for the coming visit to Buffy, which served the king's purpose. He didn't want any of them to know what other business there was to take care of in Sunnydale. It was personal and private, and Xander had said he never wanted to know of it. And Angel would keep his word, his promise this very night.

 

Angel held in his hand unfinished promises and business he wanted done, he had delayed too long, intent on running his new and difficult kingdom. But there was something that should not wait, not any longer. All of it contained in one little slip of paper. He had written the words on it himself, phone tucked up to his ear, nodding as the private investigator on the other end of the line spoke. Each letter building a sense of rage and of fate in his heart as he scribed them. It was an act that would have been better served using far older tools than an ink pen. These words deserved quill and ink, squib dipped frequently and each name put down in stark, black marks. Indelible. Final. At Last.

 

Angel passed Balthazar in the hall and touched his arm, stopping him. Then he pulled the other out of sight of any who might be innocently watching, any who might overhear or observe them.

 

Balthazar went with him easily, his face going blank, waiting for the instructions he suspected were coming. He knew how Angel viewed him. He knew the king of LA understood his darkness of spirit. He knew Angel would take advantage of that black pit that he had within when he needed such things. His joy of death. Patiently, Balthazar waited, listening to his master drawing in a long, slow breath, in preparation to speak.

 

Angel looked at him, brown eyes flecked with gold, a mark of his intensity, of the import of what he was about to ask. Zar waited, watched, felt the trembling of...fury in the man standing next to him. Whatever this thing was....he waited, his tall body still, patient. Until Angel finally seemed to find the moment right and showed Balthazar the small bit of paper he held in his hand.

 

Angel gave the tall, creamy-brown skinned vampire the small piece of of thick, ivory colored stationery, it's edge ragged where it had been torn from a larger sheet. Balthazar opened it, looked at the three names written in Angel's clear, firm script. He noted the addresses next to the names. One was here, in this terrifying, doomed enclave on the lip of the Hellmouth. The other two were not. He raised his face from the list. He met his Master's eyes.

 

"These men, these three, they hurt one of my thralls. Badly. He could not protect himself when it happened. Now, it is far past the time Justice should seek them out." Angel lay a hand on Balthazar's wide shoulder, his thumb caressed the long column of strong throat. Their eyes were locked, neither one glancing away. "Visit them for me." Angel murmured. "Be my vengeance."

 

"I will be your Justice. This will be done." Balthazar said, his voice no louder than the sound of the last sigh of breath from dying lips. Angel met his gaze fiercely. They stared, brown eyes to black. The darker vampire's head lifted, proud, willing to be this to his king. Willing to be the executioner of his king's need. Honored.

 

"I will care for your thralls while you are gone." Angel said a short pause later. Balthazar raised his chin higher, his head jerked down once, an agreement.

 

And at the other vampire's curt nod, understanding clear in his black and frozen gaze, Angel walked away. Returned to his thralls.

 

He watched Xander combing his hair. Watched him smile and laugh with the other two men. Saw the life and the joy he had given his thrall these last months. And in a few, short hours time he would give him another gift, one the young man would never know of. He would give Xander retribution. Revenge. The first installment of Justice.

 

Xander, and every child the men had dared touch before and after.

 

Balthazar vanished into the night.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Angel knocked on the door of the house. He waited, listening to the footsteps nearing the door. Big person, man probably, though the step was light, agile. His bet was Arthur or Lancelot, rather than Giles. Giles didn't have that particular springing, predatory tread.

 

The door swung open and he was faced with Lancelot, holding a sword and a pike. The big man's face changed from threat to welcome in an instant. He flung the door wide. His grin lighting his ancient face.

 

"Welcome, brothers, come in." He cried, and stood aside. His gesture welcomed all those who were standing behind and around Angel as well. "We heard of an assault on the Initiative Compound. Arthur and I were confident it was you and that you would be triumphant in your quest." He led them into the living room.

 

Angel filed in, Spike after him. Angel's thralls were gathered around him in a tight knot, and Spike's were clustered around the blond vampire, Oz right up against his back, then Sam, then Nic taking up the rear.

 

"We wanted to check in before we left Sunnydale." Angel said. Then he sniffed the air, something smelled very strange in this house, elusive, he couldn't pin it down, but it grabbed at his attention. Musky. Faint, alluring, a very important smell if he could just remember it and what it meant.

 

He heard Spike sniffing, too. Felt the tension and curiosity pouring off his heir. His Childe. Spike was literally vibrating with something, an urgency. The blue eyed vampire was looking around, a quick darting of his eyes taking in everything they could see. Assessing. Not finding what he was looking for. Frustrated.

 

Angel looked over his shoulder at Xander, only to see closed eyes and a lifted, brindled, very canine snout in the air, nostrils working, flared. Angel glanced back at the men around Spike and saw Oz huffing the air and quivering. He frowned. Oz seemed excited, his hands were restless, clenching and releasing his fists. He let out a low whine, lifted his human nose in the air, sneezed. Spike automatically reached out and gathered him near, stroking him comfortingly.

 

Arthur burst into the room just then, his handsome face beaming it's welcome. Grasping Angel's hand he shook it, embracing the vampire with one arm, dragging him against his wide chest, half squashing him. Angel, though not given much to embraces, couldn't help but grin.

 

"How is Los Angeles? Your kingdom? Is there aught we might help you with? There are demons aplenty here in this small city, almost more than I have even seen elsewhere in all of our travels, but we can aid you if the matter is grave." His face was just that quickly, serious, his brows lowered, gaze burning and intense.

 

"No. Thank you, Arthur. We aren't here seeking aid. We are just checking in. Seeing how it goes with all of you." Angel caught a whiff of the elusive scent again. It was driving him crazy. He had smelled similar odors in the past. He just couldn't pinpoint where, or put it into context. It was disturbing, and yet at the same time, calming.

 

Giles bustled into the room. His glasses rode the end of his nose and his finger was keeping a spot in the old, tattered book he cradled. He smiled.

 

"Angel. Spike. Riley. Xander. Graham." He tried to see who was crushed in Spike's arms. "Oz." He wrinkled his brow at Nic, unable to recall his name. He waved to the couches and chairs, a good dozen of them that filled the living room. "There are more than enough places to sit. We hold meetings here frequently for the convenience. Best not to have to go out to any number of other places."

 

Angel sat, Xander next to his right hand, Graham his left and Riley contentedly at his feet, collar showing above the neck of his T-shirt.

 

Carefully setting his book aside, a huge, aged tome who's title was all but worn off the cover, not even Angel's vampire eyes could make it out beyond that it was something Latin, Giles scrubbed his hands together. His eyes darted from face to face.

 

"So what can we get you?" Giles began as Arthur and Lance settled into two massive chairs, side by side. It was obvious that these chairs were theirs, and that they were used to taking them sitting close to the hearth, with the low flames sending out warmth, crackling merrily.

 

"Coffee, milk, juice, water, soda, tea, perhaps?" Giles continued. "Is your business urgent?"

 

Spike's ears almost rotated to the top of his head hearing tea offered in that tone, the tone of one who knew just how the beverage should be served and revered. He had been missing Wesley's fine tea the hours they had been gone from LA. He felt his mouth instantly begin to water. And it must have shown on his face, as he licked his lips. Giles covered his laugh with a cough, and nodded.

 

"One vote for tea, I take it. More?" He listened to them, as they all started speaking at once. Truth be told, they all missed Wesley's attempts to feed them his little tasty experiments.

 

Xander licked his chops, his long tongue running over his teeth, his wet black nose, his stomach letting out a great rumble. Giles had to flee to the kitchen under the premise of filling what orders he could remember, or burst out laughing.

 

He came out carrying the first tray less than five minutes later. Setting it on the coffee table he began handing the drinks around. Spike's eyes were fastened on the steeping teapot. He licked his lips, accepted the plate of sweet biscuits. Giles vanished back in the direction of the kitchen, returning with pots of jam and butter as well as cold slices of meat. Xander quivered.

 

"Here, then, don't stand on ceremony," Giles said, stepping back out of the way as the thralls converged on his offerings with voracious eagerness.

 

They were quite happily munching and sipping away in less than ten minutes. Spike's eyes nearly rolling in his head as in ecstasy as he slurped.

 

Upstairs a door opened, and footsteps hurried down the front staircase.

 

Buffy appeared a second later. Hair damp, wrapped in a voluminous terry cloth robe, furry, snarling Tasmanian Devil slippers huge on her tiny feet. She stopped short seeing the room full of visitors, then relaxed finding them familiar.

 

Riley raised a hand, "Hi Buffy...." He began. Here eyes turned to him. Angel froze, eyes wide and disbelieving. He'd never heard of it. Not in all his years as a vampire. He met Spike's incredulous gaze.

 

Oz dropped his food, then Xander. Spike spilled his tea on his lap. Xander sprang. Angel grabbed the back of Xander's jeans, stopping his leap. Angel sniffed as Xander squirmed in his grip. Spike seized Oz stopping him, as the lithe little werewolf tried to flow under the table and get to the girl.

 

Here was the source of the elusive scent. Buffy. The Vampire Slayer. Was Pregnant.

 

A Vampire Slayer was pregnant.


	92. Chapter 92

  
Author's notes: Bad hyena, and...getting noticed by some people is never a good thing.  


* * *

Xander paced unhappily on the sidewalk at Angel's side. Around his furred neck he wore the pale, sturdy leather collar that until a few moments ago had been around Riley's neck. The one that had once been the unwilling Angel's when he resided at the European court. Now it had once again gone from a willing neck, Riley's, to an unwilling one, Xander's. Angel's hand was locked onto the collar, a fierce scowl on his face as Xander, in full were form, hung his head, or at least tried to.

 

They were on the way back to Angel's Sunnydale mansion, Xander in disgrace, Riley frowning, not pleased that Angel had needed to borrow the collar and use it to restrain Xander. But what could Angel do when, the instant he'd relaxed his hold on Xander, the were-hyena had torn free with a mighty heave and leapt across the living room to shove his nose up Buffy's robe right into her crotch as she let out an outraged shriek?

 

That had caused a lot of yelling and bellowing as Lancelot and Arthur both jumped to Buffy's defense. Lifting her up and bearing her squalling and kicking, away over Lance's shoulder, up the stairs. With Arthur following sword bared in his hand. Angel had dragged Xander backwards so fast that Xander's claws had raked furrows in the hardwood floors, his face red. Furious. Riley and Nic were caught, mouths agog, gaping at the flurried action. Graham stony faced, as still as a carved statue, his eyes fixed on the near combatants, prepared, despite the risk, in case he had to defend his fellow thralls or his vampire master.

 

Giles was also speechless, in his chair, disbelieving.He couldn't get a word out, though he cleared his throat several times. He set his teacup down with a rattle that was testament to his shaking fingers.

 

"Wwwwwhat....?" Nic got out finally, having every bit as much trouble speaking as Giles. His expression was astonished. It had all happened so quickly. And no such uproar would have occurred if Xander, as he'd done on countless occasions before, had sniffed one of them. So aside from it being rude....he just didn't get it. And it showed on his bewildered face.

 

Angel tried to explain.

 

"She is pregnant." He said, arm firmly around Xander's furry throat. Holding the suddenly docile beast. Xander let out a hopeful whine. But Angel wasn't about to trust him with any freedom. He didn't want to see his daring thrall cut to ribbons by an enraged eternal Champion, should the idiot take it into his bristly head to pursue the trio up to the second floor.

 

Nic blinked and waited. There had to be more. What was so strange about a girl being pregnant? Happened all the time. Too damned often, he'd had a scare or two himself, it was why he religiously used a condom, no matter if the girl said she was on birth control or not. He'd learned not to be trusting of ~that~ statement in the heat of the moment. Not that he'd even have to worry about it again, what with the very possessive Spike being his master....

 

When he saw no real comprehension on either Nic's or Riley's faces, Angel sighed. They could hardly be blamed for not understanding it. He glanced over at the white faced Giles, whose lips were pressed into a bloodless line. There, now, was a man who did get it.

 

"She is the Slayer." Angel added to his previous words. Still no dawning of the light in either of the two faces. He sighed again. "It has never happened before in the history that I can recall, that a Slayer has borne a child."

 

"Why not?" Asked Nic, Riley just sitting there, dumbstruck. He had at one time hoped and prayed for a child with Buffy, a child that would bring them closer.... would give him a chance to take Angel's place in Buffy's heart, but it had never happened.

 

"Until today, I thought it wasn't possible, that fertility was the issue." Angel stroked the dark blond hair of his tallest thrall, sensing his misery. "Did you use contraception with Buffy?"

 

Riley's face flamed, he fought against his father's dictum's, never speak in public of a lady who you are having sex with. There was no faster way to trouble...but this was his master asking! And he wasn't having sex with her anymore. He shook his head.

 

"No. She hated it. I had hopes..." His voice faded after the almost confession. He looked at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "I didn't know it wasn't possible." He said.

 

"She knew it wasn't." Angel said. "Somehow, instinctively, she knew."

 

"It has to be possible. Why wouldn't it be? You are sure she is pregnant?" Nic lowered his confused voice to a whisper, so it wouldn't carry up the stairs. Angel and Spike exchanged glances, nodded in unison.

 

"Oh, hell yes." Spike said, using a rare Americanism. Nothing suited this situation better.

 

"Can smell it, can't we?. Why do you think the beast there went all wonky?" He inclined his chin at the yellow-eyed Xander held in the crook of Angel's arm. "He can smell it, too, he knows it ain't common."

 

Spike kept his hands on Oz. Though that one hadn't tried to get after Buffy very hard.

 

"So..." Nic tried to think it out. "It is a surprise. But...." He stopped frustrated. He didn't know why they were all worked up. Why was it such a big deal? He shrugged. "What's the big deal?"

 

"It has never happened before," Angel answered his question. "I will ask Alistair if he has heard different, but I am fairly certain of it. Things, any thing that has not happened before is worthy of notice." His voice was soft. "Who would have thought I would see a Slayer pregnant?"

 

Spike stood up, walked over to the stunned Giles. He crouched down, keeping half an eye on the stairs in case the Eternal Champions should re-appear and he might need to evacuate his thralls quickly. He lay a hand on the man's arm.

 

"Alright?" Spike asked, sympathetically. Too many new things lately. Too many shocks for all of them. Of course he'd thought Angel was the greatest one he'd ever live to see. But there had been Blood Circles before. Angel was just more powerful than those of legend. He was more, not unheard of. Buffy...now that was unheard of.

 

Giles swallowed. Spike patted his arm gently. "'S fine. We'll get used to it I suppose. Best not to stress the little bint out, acting all odd and goggling at her. She'll be touchy enough, I'll bet. No need to tell her it is a miracle." He tried to soothe Giles. He canted an ear at the sound of breaking things coming from the second floor, right on cue.

 

Giles nodded, his color returning, but not his voice. Spike stood.

 

"No time like the present to take our leave." He said pointedly as the crashing sounds grew louder. Everyone sprang to their feet. They had all seen Buffy in action. The mass exodus for the door was brisk. Angel had taken the collar off Riley's neck and fastened it onto Xander, Spike noted. And Riley didn't like that one bit.

 

Spike noted the sulky pout of the ex-Initiative soldier. The rebellious face. The resentment. He almost laughed aloud.

 

Angel woud have one unhappy thrall to deal with once they hit the Mansion.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Far, far away, across the blue water of a vast ocean, a phone rang. It was perched on a wide desk in a cavernous room. Books of all ages, some incredibly ancient and rare, lined every inch of wall space. The door opened on the second ring, and a tall, slender, impeccably groomed man entered, going to the desk with a measured step.

 

"Yes?" His voice was upper crust British to the core, perfectly modulated. He nodded as the excited voice blared from the handset. He nodded again, head moving an exact two inches up and down. "At once, sir. Please hold the line." He placed the call on hold and cradled the receiver. Then he went in search of his employers. His step was a fraction quicker on leaving the room than it had been on entering. His sallow cheeks bore just a hint of excited pink.

 

He entered the sitting room, a vast well cushioned affair, with chairs arranged in small groups, bearing a silver tray. It resembled the best English Gentleman's clubs, comfortable, smoky and eerily quiet. It was in reality, the home base of the Council of Watchers. The butler, having regained his aplomb, calmly passed a neatly written note to one of the men reading the evening paper as he sipped a brandy. His face was completely expressionless now.

 

The man who received the note, short and a bit on the round side, took it up only after folding his paper and laying it next to his glass. He unfolded the creased slip. Re-adjusting his spectacles he read the note. Then, uncharacteristically he leaped to his feet, knocking over the small side table at his elbow, sending his brandy flying and the paper fluttering.

 

"Are you certain?" He gasped, chest heaving as he goggled at the paper. The butler nodded. By now every head was turned their way. The head of the Council cleared his throat. Smoothed down his shirtfront, in an attempt to regain his composure. His hands trembled violently. If he hadn't just upset it, he would have gulped down the remainder of his brandy. Instead he dashed for the door.

 

"I'll take the call in the study." He said decisively, heading with unusual haste for that room.

 

Every eye was fixed on his back as he hastily strode from the silent room. A charge was in the air. Each face was suffused with the blood risen by pounding pulses. Never in life had any of the other members seen him in such a state of agitation. As one they set aside their drinks, newspapers, books and tea, and began to file out of the room towards the conference rooms on the next floor.

 

There was no doubt that whatever news was being imparted to their leader, it was extraordinary. Lately, all the news had been so. Imagine! A vampire king pronounced in Los Angeles, by a united demon front. And that that king turned out to be the renowned Angellus! Unheard of. They all wondered just what the new news could be. If it would turn be even more startling.

 

Less than half an hour later they were not disappointed when Sir Charles joined them in the conference room. His red face was even more serious than usual, his eyes grim, as he looked from man to man. He placed his fleshy hands on the polished, gleaming top of the table, leaning forward.

 

"The Slayer is pregnant." He said at last, after he had looked into every face, letting the tension build unbearably.

 

"Impossible!" Cries filled the room after a moment of impenetrable shock and silence. The leader stood upright, face shining. It was a full ten minutes before the room quieted enough to allow him to speak again and be heard by all. He held up a hand, waited. Then spoke.

 

"Measures will have to be taken immediately to bring her here."


	93. Chapter 93

  
Author's notes: They say the darkest moment is just before the dawn. A/N: discouraged and depressed. Had to write something bleak.  


* * *

Angel dragged the reluctant, scratching, squirming were-Hyena up the stairs to their room on the upper floor. No one was downstairs. The mansion was quiet, but Angel was only peripherally aware of the strange, almost anticipatory silence. He struggled to hold onto his thrall. Xander thrashed. Riley and Graham hung back a bit, both men very wary of Xander's physical reaction to frustration.

 

The room was not empty, Angel noted in surprise, opening his mouth to question why as the crowd parted for him. Then something stopped him, some odor on the air, a sense of greedy emptiness, despite the many people inside. Something was very, very wrong.

 

A big vampire was bent down, leaning over others who were on top of the mattress. Then he straightened, turning and seeing Angel, he blanched. The light skinned vampire who had only recently joined Angel's court stood rigidly upright next to Angel's huge bed. His expression like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

Treymane, his glowing, freckled skin and spiked blond hair a rough, golden helmet in the low light. His blue eyes were nearly colorless, almost grey rather than blue, his Viking heritage plain in his meaty body and solid features. The thick mustache on his lip and running in an inverted arc to his chin. Thick, silky. His eyes were not happy. They were guarded, and as Angel entered further, Xander suddenly not fighting, twisting his head around towards the bed, muzzle raised, sniffing in the air, Treymane stepped back from the bed, moving until his back was pressed up against the wall, and he was as far from the bed as he could get while remaining in the room.

 

The bed itself was not empty, either. On it was a very thin, pale form, made to look all the more diminished by the vastness of the bed. Wesley was crouched over the figure, with Lindsey next to him. Wesley looked up, fear stark on his features. Fear, sorrow, and accusation.

 

"Why? What the hell were you thinking, leaving him like that? How could you be so cold?" The former watcher asked an a voice so laden with tears Angel took a few extra seconds to understand.

 

There was a crackle of air and suddenly Xander was human. He jumped up onto the mattress, flashing around to the other side of the person who lay so still, unmoving. His face was shockingly open, grieving...and Angel knew, without a doubt who was on the bed.

 

"Doyle?!" Xander called out, shaking the man gently.

 

Angel was there, that fast, forcing Wesley and Lindsey back, as he took Doyle up in his arms, not trying to stop Xander's frantic touches. The demon was cold, far colder than he should have been. His face utterly bloodless, his body limp, head falling back, heavy on his slender neck. Oh, Ghod, no!

 

"He needed to be near you!" Wesley said, his tone accusing for all the quiet delivery. "He needed Xander. Your blood. And you left him. He's never forgotten you. How could you just forget him?" Wesley was crying. Angel forgave him every word.

 

More people were starting to gather in the doorway to the room. No explanations being spoken. Angel heard them come, the ghostly steps, felt the eyes on his back. But they were not important. What was important was his forgetting one of his people. Forgetting his consort needed his blood, yet would never be able, even on his best day to bring himself to ask for it. Doyle could not ask him, or anyone for Angel's blood. And Angel had forgotten that. The state that Doyle was in.

 

Angel tried to think, how many days since Doyle had taken his blood? He could not remember. Was it the day they had left? The night before? Or longer than that?

 

The pulse under his hand was so weak, almost his imagination, the thin chest barely rising and falling, not enough, not nearly enough. Mouth icy white, black lashes stark on his cheeks, slashes of coal darkness. Oh, Jesus ghod. Angel tore his wrist open savagely, until the crimson blood gushed, but raising it to the slack mouth was so hard, he was shaking so hard....

 

A hand took his wrist, steadied it, another supported Doyle's flopping head. Angel shook harder, but the hands and arms held him. He watched, desperately. Prayed. For a single swallow, for any sign of life beyond the flutter of the heart he could barely sense. The pulse that might only be dreamed.

 

Doyle's hair fell over his arm in a black wave. When had it gotten so long? Why hadn't he noticed? Oh, ghod, Doyle. Oh, ghod, come back. He almost said it aloud, would have but for the fist gripping his heart, his throat, squeezing it, squeezing the unnatural life out of it, of him. His friend. His consort...had he let the man die? A man he could have saved with a no more than a few ounces of blood? By simply noticing... Too late. Too weak to swallow. Far too late.

 

Doyle who had been his first friend in such a long, long time. Who had been there with him in Los Angeles from the first. Doyle who had had too much pain in his own life. From before they had met. And Angel had only added more. Brought him more. Angel had failed his friend.

 

He hardly noticed when Cordelia started preying on him. Hardly noticed Doyle's pain when she walked out on him. Hardly noticed when Doyle started craving his blood and more. Hardly noticed when Doyle wasted away and almost died. He'd even tried to send Xander away when his thrall tried to show him... Only Xander's insistence had saved Doyle then. And now the ultimate betrayal, he'd left Doyle behind him, in LA, not thinking of Doyle's fragile state, that the half demon had no reserve, that he in his current condition could not go without Angel's blood, not even for a few days....Angel instead of thinking of all of that, had left, and taken Xander with him. Xander, Doyle's last hope. Xander who would have noticed.

 

A keening cry rose up in his chest, filled his whole being, escaped into the room. Filled it and overflowed. Beside him Xander howled, long and mournful. Wesley crouched on the floor, hands pressed to his ears, mouth open in a rictus of pain, Lindsey crawling for the door, making it, pushing between all the standing legs of the others who watched. Hands lifting the cringing thrall up, caring for him in Balthazar's absence. Caring for him, as Angel had not done for Doyle.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Angel gently lay Doyle down on the crumpled bed. He stroked the immobile features. Stilled in time, engraved like this on his memory. He would never forget... Xander licked the blood dappled chin, whining deep in his throat, caring for the dying man, cleaning him, tears running down his human face.

 

A cough. Choked. The white throat moved, blood spilling out of the mouth. Graham was frozen, kneeling on the bed next to Xander. Then he whipped Doyle over on his side, forcing the clotted blood from his mouth, opening his airway. Doyle dragged in a small breath. Graham rubbed his back encouraging it. He grabbed Angel's wrist as the vampire sat, stunned. He pressed the bleeding wound, more than half healed by now, only dripping sluggishly, not enough.

 

Xander grabbed Angel's arm from Graham's hold, biting deep, reopening it, then pressed it to Doyle's mouth. He jerked Angel down onto his side, fixing the angle so Doyle would not have to lift his head to feed. Xander's weight was crushing on top of him, but Angel didn't care. Doyle swallowed! Angel was sure of it. Doyle had swallowed some of the blood. He stroked the white skin.

 

And again. He felt it, for sure this time. A breath, light as butterfly wings, a swallow. Angel pressed his mouth to the side of his consort's neck. Waited for the sweet truth of a pulse against his lips. Another. Another. He fought the urge to hug Doyle, hard, to him. To crush him into his arms and protect him.

 

Ah ghod. Doyle. He lay there, still, cradling the weightless man, holding him with infinite gentleness tempering his horrible strength. He lay contented, feeling the pulse surge, regular, growing stronger, stronger, his lips tingling with every beat.

 

He saw, distantly, Xander scratch at the irritating collar around his neck as he lay down, curled in front of Doyle as Angel was behind, closing in, until Doyle was almost hidden from view between the two, much larger men. He saw Riley rise up from the floor, reaching long, muscular arms out, fumble nervously with the ornate buckles of the collar, pull it away.

 

He saw Riley's hand a fist around the pale tan of the leather. Saw Graham looking. Moving over to Riley, taking the collar out of his hand, Riley resisting then giving in, anxious, sad, bewildered, turning his eyes over to Angel, Doyle and Xander where they lay. Hanging his head, looking ashamed, anguished.

 

Graham raising his arms, going up onto his knees, looping the collar around Riley's neck. Fastening it. Putting his arms around Riley, holding him. Like Xander held Doyle. Like he held Doyle.

 

And all the while, the heavenly beat against his mouth.


	94. Chapter 94

  
Author's notes: Returning home to things undone. dedicated to sylum Alex/Jim this time.   


* * *

Angel was relieved to be home. He tilted his head back and looked over the Hyperion Hotel from lobby to the top of the ceiling four floors above. His home. His first real home in centuries.

 

Crazy as LA could be...Sunnydale, with it's live and very active Hellmouth was worse. Before leaving Sunnydale he had spoken with Giles and Arthur. Giving both men his views on what Buffy's pregnancy meant. And the risks to her and the unborn child because of it. He had offered them the sanctuary of LA, his kingdom such as it was, if he could hold on to it. But so far, they had all declined. Though Giles' keen interest in the possibility was obvious to Angel.

 

Buffy's pregnancy was now a confirmed fact, Giles having taken her firmly in hand despite her shrill and annoyed protestations, purchasing a home pregnancy kit in spite of the censorious eye the middle aged lady at the drugstore counter fixed him and then the pouting Buffy with, (making Giles feel like a cradle robbing bastard). And standing outside the bathroom door, with it slightly ajar, until she peed on the stick and handed it to him to decipher. Grumbling that she had no idea how to read the darn thing, and since he wanted to know so bad, he could do it himself. In fact if it were so important, maybe he should pee on the stick himself, see how much he liked being forced to.... He tuned her rant out for the time it took to read the very simple results. There could be no doubt, despite the mulish set of her shoulders and her jutting, rebellious chin as she buttoned up her jeans, Buffy the Vampire Slayer was pregnant.

 

Angel had taken great care to be assured that Arthur understood the implications. That in his opinion the attacks on Sunnydale would escalate with the spreading rumors of her pregnant state. Demons, certain lawyers and other evildoers would assume it weakened her, made her more vulnerable, and prime for the picking. They would come to the Hellmouth in droves. Sunnydale in point of fact would likely be safer without the Slayer than with her.

 

After Angel spoke with the very confident Arthur, who would not respond at all to questions of who had fathered the child...he asked to speak with Lance. Lance who while he was not a former king, was actually the more cunning of the two Eternal Champions.

 

Angel finally felt better when he realized Lancelot du Lac shared every concern he voiced. Not for the first time Angel wondered if the man had ever been an assassin, a man given to skulking in shadows, and doing dark deeds. Knowing somehow that if Arthur had needed him to, Lance would have slipped through darkness and done any act, even assassination to protect his once and future king.

 

Lance didn't trust anyone aside from himself, Groo, Arthur and to a degree, Giles. Angel was also only partially trusted, which was, the vampire decided, a wise thing. So, much reassured by the suspicious turn of Lance's mind, Angel hung up, he hadn't talked to Buffy herself. She had refused to come to the phone. She was, Giles admitted, sulking. She was not happy.

 

And he still had no idea who was the father of the child. And how it had happened. Not so long ago he would have very certainly answered to any who asked that it was not possible that any Slayer would conceive. But now...he had to rethink everything. And on top of it worry was it natural, magical, or demonic? Was there anything he should do? And if there was, would he be able to? Could he get through Arthur and Lance if he needed to? Probably. Yes. He could. But did he want to? No he did not.

 

He stood for a moment in the lobby of the hotel, watching the others come in from the covered garage, Xander carrying Doyle like a mother her babe, Riley following, no longer hanging his head, but still radiating his shame that he had been driven to take the collar back for himself almost tearing it off of Xander's neck, while Doyle was sick and suffering. It didn't matter that Xander ~hated~ the collar, and was glad enough to see it gone. Riley had barely said a word, standing upright and dignified, and any unfamiliar observer would think he had no troubles. That he was merely a steady, self-confident, handsome young man. But Angel liked to think he knew his thrall, or was beginning to. Riley was ashamed. Deeply so.

 

Riley was humiliated by the depth of his need, the urgency of it. Clearly it frightened him, no longer feeling the comfort of Angel's collar, but in an agony of indecision, as if he felt he'd stolen it. And Angel had been too busy to talk to his big thrall. But that was not going to be left long. He was not going to have a second intensely personal problem because of inattention. Find himself responsible for a second Doyle.... No. He would deal with Riley, give the big man absolute, concrete, irrefutable certainty of his place in Angel's court, and bed.

 

Graham of course was there, at Riley's side, supporting him with an unobtrusive hand on his elbow. Lending strength where it was needed. Graham. The one who always was reliable, who gave Angel his few, stress free moments, uncomplicated. Graham was comfort. Thank ghod for him, Angel thought fervently, and not for the first time. Graham was a true thrall, as if he'd been born to the role. As if he could have been held up as an example to all.

 

Now they were home. And Angel looked up, way up, to see the saintly form of his second coming down the stairway, that glorious hair held up and away from that even more stunning face, passing Xander and Doyle, and coming down further, not stopping until he reached the lobby and their eyes met. Locked, held. Gunn was a dark, threatening shadow at Alistair's back, Groo a lighter one, more animated, at his side, both thralls taking in all the activity. Missing nothing.

 

Angel couldn't spare Alistair's thralls more than a glance, a smile of greeting. His own need was far too great. He had questions to ask. And he had reassurances he required. He was king, stuck in the role. Unable to be different, unable to scream his rejection without sacrificing things that could never be done without.

 

No, Angel accepted he could never not be the king, not until true death came calling. But he did not like it. And he felt like he was not equal to it. That he must fail over and over, until all was in a shambles. What use was all this power if he didn't know when to use it, or how most of the time? The only thing that gave him hope that he might one day look back and see he had not failed, was Alistair. Alistair who called him king in a tone of voice that was nothing but truth, nothing but respect, willing to name him so and follow him. Alistair who would be a great king, if he would but admit to it.....

 

Alistair came to a stop in front of Angel, face serenely grave, his thralls, Gunn and Groo gliding to a stop, smooth, precise pillars of quiet, observant strength. The perfect echo of their master. It came to Angel then, that no two other men or women would fit Alistair so well. The new-grass green eyes gazed solemnly into his own, far darker ones. Angel sighed.

 

"I sent him to you as soon as I realized." Alistair said, his voice quiet, private amongst all the bustle going on around them as the rest of the returnees settled back into the hotel.

 

"I am grateful that you did. It was nearly too late." Angel answered, not moving, not giving in to the need for reassurance, for grounding, for plunging his hands into all that luxurious hair, and for a brief instant forgetting everything else.

 

"I feared I may have waited too long. I am glad he survived. Is he well?" Alistair let Angel guide him into the office, further away from other ears.

 

"No," Angel shook his head. "Not well. But alive, and he will do better. I will see to it this time."

 

"Even a king can not do all things." Alistair said, offering comfort with the bald honesty of his words. "No king can rule as one man alone. We must all strive to aid you."

 

"No. I know that. But a king should not be responsible for the death of his only consort. If he died..." Angel took a breath to steady himself. "Aside from being my friend, he is the named Consort of the demons. I can not afford to antagonize them, on top of all else. I have to take care of him. I can not....let him die because I am too busy. What use is it to be a king if my being a king means Doyle, and others I care for will die because of it?"

 

"Yet, he is alive. Why? I honestly would have laid odds he would not survive. That he could not. Not in his condition. Yet...he is here, breathing. How?" Alistair asked, moving nearer. "He is alive because you are his king. No one else could save him."

 

"It is I who brought him so close to his death." Angel protested.

 

"No." Alistair disagreed. "But it is time you bound yourself to him. Take him fully as your consort, give him the protection that bond confers."

 

Angel stared at him. "He is not willing to be in my bed, crowded as it is."

 

"He has said this?"

 

"No." Angel shook his head. "He didn't have to. It has been made painfully clear to me by his actions, reactions. I think Xander's care is what he needs for now, he is so weak..."

 

"This is not for only your first thrall to address." Alistair leaned in, let their arms touch, let Angel feel the warm breath floating over his cheek as he spoke, low and confiding. "He is weak, your consort. Far too weak for you to wait. He needs your claim to be taken now."

 

"He is my friend. I don't wish to take advantage of him in his weakness...." Angel tried to explain, but Alistair shook his head, lay a hand on his forearm. He reached out with his other hand and closed the door to the office, sealing the two of them into the private space.

 

"This goes beyond your tie of friendship, Angelus Dei. This goes to the stability of this court, and of Los Angeles. Find a way to make it up to him later, but take him to your bed and bind him to you. Give him your strength to rely on. It is his best chance of staying alive, and of your court being accepted by the keepers and those they have influence with. To fail...to have Doyle die... What he requires is to know he has a place that no other can take from him. Make him your consort in all ways. Do not leave him to wait and to doubt again."

 

Angel sank into the nearest chair, thinking hard. Alistair did not take a chair, instead he sank to the floor next to Angel, kneeling. His hands rested on his king's knees. Angel at last looked up, into his face.

 

"I have thought of that. I have wondered how to bring him to my bed. How it would work for him. I can do it. I want to protect him, shield him. But it is not my wish to force him. I see how he looks at my thralls. It is more than clear he doesn't want to be one of many...."

 

"You have only one consort. One who will have a place beside you, with that title of honor. No other. Show him that. But, afterward, after he has been bound to you. There is no time to lose if you are to save him from wasting away." Alistair grasped one of Angel's hands, larger, thicker than his own, and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the fingers. A kiss of fealty, not of seduction.

 

Angel squeezed his hand in return, then let his touch wander. Let his fingers brush the bright blond hair held back from the so proud, so regal face. He gave in to the urge to tug down the hair, the clasp tumbling to the floor, letting the feel of the heated silk envelop his arms. He pulled Alistair up, closer, leaning in more, scenting the calm, the scent that was only Alistair. Not the scent of thrall, or of minion, or of Childe. The scent of centuries of strength, of life, of ancient power, steady and unflinching. His to call on when it was needed.

 

Angel tilted that angelic countenance up. Looked into sparkling green eyes, like the finest apple jade, like precious jewels only alive, burning with the length of light and time Alistair had lived and seen. The curve of lips that not even the hand of a Bottecelli could improve, perfection of an unearthly kind, the chance of parentage, of genetics long ago coming together to give the vampire this saintly face that had sealed his fate. Beauty beyond compare.

 

Angel pressed a kiss to the soft mouth. Lingered, his thumbs running over the shell of the rim of each ear. Feeling the pulse against his palms. Alistair let his mouth fall open, accepting the deepening kiss. Gentle. But deep. Bliss and surrender. Angel pulled back, let their foreheads rest together, their breath, coming fast, intermingling. Alistair extended his tongue, licked his king's lips, bit his mouth, sweet little nips. Angel groaned.

 

"No, I will not take more than this, though I burn for it." Angel said, a whisper. "I will find my own power. I will not steal yours." His lips were right on top of Alistair's, so speaking was nothing more than another kind of kissing.

 

"You steal nothing, my king. It is all yours." Alistair told him.

 

Angel groaned again. His thumb found the pulse of blood in the other's neck. "Your heart always beats, it counts time again, unlike any other vampire I have known, king or common." Angel noted, his eyes burning with the edge of gold, of the change waiting to come over him, fangs waiting to drop.

 

"Yes. It has been so for a very long time. I do not know why." Alistair replied, letting Angel turn and tilt his head, baring his neck, the pulse beating there. Angel lapped at the spot. Listened to the siren song of rushing blood.

 

Alistair spoke again, with Angel's mouth poised, teasing the skin over his carotid. "All I know now is I am yours, your weapon, your power, your sword, I am what ever you need. You must use me as you have need of me. Do not forget I am here. Your second with all that that means to a king of your line, of this court you are building on the new shore, where no court has ever been before. Do not forget. Do not reject using me."

 

"You are right. Your words counsel wisdom. I will not forget." Angel nodded, licking at the fount of temptation that was Alistair's pulse. Yet, now was not his time, not for this. To use this now was only selfish, though the mere thought of it was nearly overwhelming his will. He sighed. Sat back, brought Alistair's head to rest on his thigh, stroked the glorious hair.

 

"There is other news," he said, reluctantly. "The Slayer is with child....."

 

Alistair was struck speechless.


	95. Chapter 95

  
Author's notes: Balthazar's quest. Doyle's resolution.  


* * *

Balthazar stood on the highest roof, one foot braced on the brickwork wall, as he leaned well over the edge, peering down at the humanity far below, scurrying like so many noxious ants. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked Los Angeles. It was no New Orleans true, it was a new city, without even that short extra history and darkness to recommend it, but it teemed with life and oddities. He grinned ferally. He liked oddities. He licked his half extended fangs. And there was more than enough going on in this new city that people could disappear...and no one noticed.

 

Movement far below caught his eye. He zeroed in on the man, rushing to some errand or another. His last victim. His prey. One who had touched his master's, Angel's, Thrall years ago, when that one was a child. A filthy creature this one, twisted in ways even Balthazar despised him for. Not that he needed much excuse to dislike the cattle. This one would disappear just like all the others, and no one would ever care. His smile widened as his hunting fangs dropped further.

 

The man had not been at his residence when Balthazar pursued him there. Ironically he had just moved to LA. To Angel's kingdom. A move of Fate if there ever was one for Balthazar to believe in. He was right here, less than a dozen blocks from the Hyperion. Unknowing, unaware. It was quite likely that he would have run into Xander at some time, probably sooner rather than later. And that could not be allowed. The man was a prowler. He wandered the streets late. It was only bad luck that he'd not run into some sort of creature that wanted to eat such offal.

 

Now he could kill the man, complete the task that Angel had set for him, and add his third little fleshy trophy to the blood-proof leather bag tied to his belt, he squeezed the bag, reveling in the fluid feel inside. None of these men would have anything left to allow them to play with little children again. This one was the last one. Then he could return to his own Thralls.

 

Balthazar bared his long fangs in anticipation, giving in to the urge to let his second set of fangs drop for just an instant. He was alone, there was no one to see it. And it eased the horrible pressure that was already building in his gut from being separated from his thralls. He wanted to go back to them, irritating and stubborn, insubordinate as they could be, he wanted to be with them.

 

He wanted that. More than he'd even admit out loud. He wanted Wesley and Lindsay in his arms and under his belly, legs lifted, hips raised to give him access, to take them hard, deep. To force their cries out, feel them shudder against him, in his arms, and catch their whimpers on his tongue. He wanted to lick their juices from their bodies, and indulge himself in hours of their blood. Leisurely licks of it as it trickled down their throats, down their chests....while he suckled them.

 

He ground his teeth together, forcing his second set back in, high and tight. It hurt to do it, he needed to feed, he needed them. But first he had this last task to do..and to bring the man-parts to Angel. As Proof the men had paid, and could never repeat the crime that they were guilty of. Balthazar smiled once again. A smile any sane creature would have fled from. Time to get to work...

 

He stepped off the edge of the building, scuttling like a beetle down the side, his black coat fanning out behind like dark angel's wings.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Angel looked up.

 

Thin and frail, but with life back in his black lashed, green eyes, his Consort stood in the office doorway, holding onto the jamb to steady himself. Angel watched as the half demon advanced into the room. Slow but so beautiful to see him moving independently, not needing to be carried place to place. He was still so pale. The familiar, expected pain lanced through the vampire's chest. They had nearly lost him.

 

"Doyle." Angel set his work aside and moved around the desk. He put his hands under Doyle's elbows to support him. Doyle fastened his own hands around Angel's biceps, holding tight, gazing up. The dark brown eyes met green, and Angel brushed a kiss over Doyle's forehead. The greatest intimacy Doyle was comfortable with when not behind a locked door. And while Angel would never let his thralls impose such restrictions...he did allow Doyle to.

 

Angel looked down into the brilliant eyes. Hungry gaze. Doyle nibbling on his faintly pinkened lower lip. That said it all, without a request being voiced. Twice a day, without fail Angel fed Doyle his blood, more if he needed it. Four times a day Xander fed him food by hand, watching every mouthful go down. Like a new mother with her child.

 

And it was working, Doyle was walking now. On his own. He was speaking and interacting a little. Though Angel still felt all his bones when he touched him. Not enough flesh there, not yet, but soon. Now the only softness on his body was his smooth, round buttocks. Where Angel loved to rest his hands. Which Doyle only allowed him after feeding when they were strictly alone.

 

Angel slipped an arm around the Irishman, turning them both towards the lobby and then the stairs. No one remarked on the slow journey, though there were several people standing, talking. All members of Angel's court. They would do nothing to hurt Doyle. The Consort. The reason for the peace between Angel and many of the other demons. Vampires were not the favorites of most other demonkind. But Doyle was. Doyle was loved and venerated as a sacred being, the Seer. And Doyle was Consort in Angel's court.

 

Angel supporting Doyle, but not carrying him as they climbed the steps. Doyle was growing stronger by the day, but it was so slow. Angel felt the anxiety of not knowing if he was going to live or die being replaced by the worry of how far the other man would recover. Would Doyle ever be the old Doyle, his friend and comrade again? Would he ever laugh freely again, with anyone but Xander? Xander who somehow managed to bring out the rare smiles and the even rarer laugh. Or had that man that Doyle had been......been forever destroyed?

 

Angel eased Doyle into the suite of rooms that he held for his own. The vast bed, a new one, custom built to be even larger in order to accommodate Angel's increasing number of thralls and his Consort, too, beckoned. Angel felt the relief flow through Doyle at the sight of the bed so near. While Doyle fought for his independence...he could only do so much with the strength he had. And some days...Angel had to carry him.

 

He only fed Doyle here. Doyle reacted badly to public feeding, not even wanting Angel's own Thralls around if that could be avoided. Xander was the sole exception. Xander was even permitted to be in the room when Angel claimed Doyle. And if Xander was here, in the hotel, not busy at the moment, he would come soon to join them without being told. Doyle would feed from Angel and then turn to Xander for comfort and food.

 

Doyle had not yet been able to accept Angel's comfort. Not when he depended on him for so many things. For blood, for his life, for sex... That had been the crux of all the pain. Doyle needing Angel in that way, being in love with Cordelia, but denied her, and not being in love with Angel, yet having to surrender to him in order to live at all. He had decided he'd rather die than beg for Angel to take him to his bed. So Angel had not asked. He'd taken Doyle without his consent. Though Doyle hadn't refused either. They had never spoken of it, of what they did.

 

Doyle. Angel lay him on the bed, up against the pillows and removed his own shirt, his shoes and then his pants. Naked he moved up the bed to curl around Doyle who watched him with brilliant eyes, sad eyes. But eyes that at least had feeling in them, not eyes that reflected death hovering a breath away.

 

Angel gathered him into his arms. It was the work of second to gash open his own wrist, to lift it to Doyle's mouth, and for the suction to begin. Angel felt the draw all the way down to his balls. It was like this for him with any of his Thralls, and with Doyle. Others, he could take or leave them. Whichever tickled him at the moment. But Riley, Graham, Xander, Heri, the obnoxious, adorable vampire he'd been foolish enough to claim as a test a 'fuck you' to the European king...and Doyle. They reached deeper into him, into that part of him called his soul, and they clung to the thread of it. They made him feel, sometimes things he didn't want to feel.

 

Alistair could do it, too. But Alistair was different. Not even Xander challenged him, or his right to Angel. Nor did Angel challenge him though Alistair whispered to him that he could, that he was strong enough, skilled enough. Alistair was his second, should have been first, but chose the second spot, chose to serve Angel. His touch and his advice kept Angel sane amidst insanity. Angel knew he was not the right choice, the rational one to put up as king anywhere in the world. But the Fates, the PTB had done it to him, working through that human mad woman who ran the Initiative. Had run it. She was dead, and Angel gloried in that fact. Dead and gone. He had killed her quite happily. Angel knew from personal experience that Hell was real, and he also knew that woman was there, warm as burnt toast.

 

He turned his mind back to more insistent matters. His body sang with Doyle's drinking, sucking of his blood. Ghods, who would have guessed that giving blood like this would become one of the greatest pleasures of his life? The Scourge of Europe...a drinking fountain. He hid his self-deprecating smirk in Doyle's luxurious, lengthening black hair.

 

He sniffed the scent of his Consort. Light and sweet, pure heaven. Angel's face morphed, his eyes flickering to gold. Doyle preferred the demon face now. He would only let Angel take him without tears, without looking away, when it was that face that he saw. Angel didn't pretend to understand it, or why. He just obeyed the man's wishes.

 

Gently Doyle disengaged from Angel's wrist the wound folding closed in moments. He turned his face up looking at Angel, and seeing the demon mask, he sighed. A sound of longing. Angel turned him, lifted the skirt of the robe. Cupped his hand over the lovely swell of arse Dole still retained, a soft full curve beneath sharp hip bones.

 

It was easy, slipping in so slowly, so slick, and Doyle sighing. His hands reached up to trace the ridges of Angel's gameface. As Angel sank his prick into Doyle. Long and thick, rock hard, but Doyle never had cried out, never felt pain in taking him. In the way of demons, Doyle was his Consort, his body meant to accept his monarch, his master. And it did. Doyle sighed again, his eyes fluttering as Angel fetched up against him, fully claiming him.

 

Angel always drew out this first moment of coupling, of being fully joined. He turned his face to kiss the white hand pressed to his cheek, licking the soft skin. Doyle watched him with enormous eyes, until it all built too high, until Angel had to move inside.

 

The first thrust back in, Doyle's lips parted, inner lips pinker, wetter, his breath a tiny puff against Angel's chin. Angel could not be so quiet about his own response. He groaned, throaty, harsh, deep, as he pushed in every inch, every millimeter he had.

 

Doyle lifted his chin, his mouth opening a fraction more, his breath that little bit deeper, faster, his lips flushing rose. Pliant, giving, Angel stared at him, his eyes glowing gold, hot. In and out, so careful, but not giving up any of the depth, any of the intensity he had to have. It wasn't fast, but it was what he could have with his Consort. And he would not let any of it go.

 

Doyle whimpered. Sending need, fire-edged and sharp, hurtling through Angel. He let his hand steal around to press Doyle's belly down, to anchor him tight. To keep him there as less than two minutes after beginning, that little sound brought him to the end. He shot his seed into his Consort, filling him. Doyle letting out another sound, turning further. His hands still holding Angel's face.

 

Angel kissed him and felt Doyle come three hot bursts against his side. Doyle closing his eyes and shaking. No sound escaping him as he climaxed, the tremor transmitting to Angel's body.

 

They rested. Angel remaining inside. Doyle accepting it today, though there were days he wouldn't, days he pulled off and away. Angel held him, lips touching, not kissing after the first kiss, but resting atop, mouth on mouth. Doyle stayed there. And Angel didn't move, didn't breathe. Holding him, Doyle's hand falling like a slow, tumbling autumn leaf to lie on Angel's chest. Angel listening to the odd beat of Doyle's half demon heart. The rise and fall of his breath. The taste of his lush mouth.

 

Afraid to move and break the spell.


End file.
